Why I Grow Basil and How I Know I Married the Right Man: A midnight backyard panic, one suspicious toad, and a husband with no fear.

A midnight backyard panic, one suspicious toad, and a husband with no fear.

What do you grow in your backyard?

Produce? A Pinterest-worthy pollinator garden?

I grow basil.

Not for cooking. For combat.

Picture this: you’re barefoot, coffee in hand, stepping onto your back patio—and then you remember you live in Texas, where the ground might wiggle.

Yes, I moved to Texas. Land of brisket, big trucks, and things that can kill you in your own backyard.

So yeah, I planted basil.

I grow mine to fight off creatures that slither like they own the place.

Around here, herbs aren’t for garnish. They’re for survival.

Call it what you want.

I call it snake-related paranoia—and it’s thriving.

Let’s get one thing straight:

I don’t dislike snakes.

I HATE them.

Capital H. Capital A. Capital T. Capital E. Hate.

I’m not “they’re good for the ecosystem” scared.

I’m “call a priest, sell the house, move to Canada” scared.

Back where I used to live, the worst thing slithering through my yard was a harmless garter snake. But Texas? Texas has rattlesnakes. And cottonmouths.

Otherwise known as: slithering reasons to never go barefoot again.

Before we even unpacked the moving boxes, I Googled “how to keep snakes away” like my life depended on it. Which, in my mind, it kind of did. That’s when I found out snakes supposedly hate the smell of basil.

So guess who now owns a thriving back porch basil farm?

Come for the pesto. Stay for the paranoia.

Welcome to backyard life in Texas.

🐸 Midnight Madness

It was just after midnight. I let the dogs out (yes, I let the dogs out—cue the chorus). Maggie, our three-year-old Cavachon, got weird near the corner of the yard. Tail up. Ears alert. Fixated.

I knew that look.

She found something.

And I didn’t want to know what.

I called her back like I was negotiating a hostage situation.

“Maggie. Come. Now.

”Miraculously, she listened.

I grabbed a flashlight and scanned the spot.

Two beady little eyes blinked back at me through the dark.

Just sitting there. Staring. Plotting.

I told myself it was a toad. A fat one, maybe.

But my brain whispered, or it’s a baby snake, all coiled and ready to launch itself at your face.

I panicked. Naturally.

I grabbed the nearest tennis ball and chucked it.

Missed.

I tossed a bag of dog poop.

Missed again.

Whatever it was, it clearly had no fear of flying objects or me.

Then I marched into the garage, found a bat, and headed back out…only to discover that my bravery had a very firm five-foot limit.

Past that? Full damsel in distress.

Enter: My Superhero

So, I did what any strong, capable, independent woman would do.

I woke up my husband.

“Hey… sorry to wake you. There’s something in the backyard. I’m not sure if it’s a toad or a snake.”

Without a sigh, without a single sarcastic comment, he got out of bed, slipped on his shoes, grabbed a long umbrella—something I hadn’t even considered as a tactical option—and walked straight into the dark with zero fear.

He poked it.

It hopped.

It was a toad.

A regular, innocent, non-deadly, very-much-not-a-snake toad.

And not only did he confirm that I was not under siege by venomous wildlife,

he gently relocated the toad somewhere safer.(Probably to protect the toad from me.)

❤️ Real Love Looks Like This

I still hate snakes.

The basil stays.

And yes—I now eye every garden hose like it might hiss back.

But here’s what I realized:

Love isn’t always fireworks and roses.

Sometimes love is a man in sleep shorts holding an umbrella, poking a toad out of the backyard at midnight—just to calm his wife’s fear.

Not because he understands it.

But because he understands her.

So yeah, I grow basil for the snakes.

But the reason I sleep better at night?

That’s all him.

📝 Bonus Life Tip

When fear shows up in your yard, throw the poop bag…but marry the guy who doesn’t question why you did.

📌 Quote of the Day

“Sometimes love is sleep shorts, no sarcasm, and showing up in the dark with an umbrella.”

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