Our Story

In her own words...

In 1968 I was a teenager with a baby. Loyd (my future husband and business partner) was a single man with 5 young daughters, 4 to 9 years old.

In a long story made short, I began taking care of those 5 young ladies, and their amazing father. I was 17. Loyd was 30.

And fell in love with them, became their mother. Became a wife to the man, and our life really began. A couple years later, we added one more daughter; so that made a total of 7 girls.

I had trained horses and gone to horse mastership school with world renown equestrian teacher Linda Tellington-Jones. We had 5 stallions on the place and did a lot of breeding. We trained horses and taught people to ride. I did artificial insemination in cattle, and bought and sold livestock. Loyd worked for Lockheed. The girls belonged to 4-H. They showed sheep, and dairy cattle. And of course rode horses. We raised 90% of our own food; pigs, cows, chickens, turkeys, sheep, and of course vegetables, lots and lots of vegetables. We canned, dried and froze food—about 2500 quarts of it a year. We were, after all, feeding a lot of people; my mom and dad, Loyd and myself, 7 growing girls and for several years, my half-sister’s son. Our yard was a non-stop flower show. 

In the fall of 1972 our local feed store was having troubles & needed someone to run it. It belonged to a company by the name of Western Farmers. At the time Loyd was working as a welder at Lockheed shipyard. He had come home that summer with his hair burnt off—from a fire in the hold of the ship they were welding on. He was lucky. He only lost a little hair. Others were not so lucky. I could no longer stand the worry of every time he crawled into the hold of those ships. It was the third fire of the summer. We had no money. Just a desire. To do something different, and we weren't afraid to work hard. 

But it took money to have a business. Like so many dreams—it was a dream. One, with no way to make it a reality… Then one afternoon I was at a gentleman's house, breeding his cow, when he asked why we didn't try to get the feed store. I laughed and told him it was a nice dream, but it might as well be the moon for any chance we had of putting it together. He asked me a few questions. About 10 minutes later I finished my coffee, and he went into his office to bring me a check for breeding the cow. He came out with two checks. One for the cow. One for starting the store. One for $22.75. One for $5000. In the early 70's that was a lot of money. 

Hell! It’s still a lot of money.

It was the amount we needed for a required security deposit on the Western Farmers business. He said to me that ‘someone had helped him once upon a time, and now I am helping you. Someday you'll help someone too.’ I told him I couldn't take it. He told me why I could and would… and at some point I took the check. I told him I didn't know when or how I would pay it back. He said it didn't matter. No paperwork, no anything but a belief. And so it began...in the old berry packing plant (Mukai Farm), with a dream, a desire, and a belief that we could do it. 

We found a new place and moved the business up town, into a building owned by the wife of the gentleman that gave us the money—the building where we worked for the next 25 or so years. In our first year there, we tripled the business. I remember going into the Western Farmers corporate office for orientation, and touring the computer room. It was in a sterile room, we stood in a hall way and looked at the room thru a wall of glass. Everything was on reels of tape. I knew nothing about business or computers or how to read a sales report or a balance sheet or a P&L. But somehow I learned. We made so many memories over 40 years—including the look on the face of the wonderful man who helped us get started, when I came in and handed him a check for the total plus interest, 4 years after we had begun. He said he couldn't take it. I said he could and he would. And he did…

The point is that ALL feed stores have plants, usually a couple racks of bedding plants. And so did we. Only, nobody grew the things they do now. You couldn't get the really cool things that grew in all the books. But then we found this place in Michigan called Walters Gardens, and (1981 to 1995)they had the roots of so many great plants.. And I thought ‘man, I can grow those. I don't know how, but I can do it.’ So we bought some and grew a few. And the next year we grew a few more.

At the same time, we hauled hay—about 1,500 ton a year, and livestock feed, 40 to 50 tons a month. Vashon was still very livestock and agriculture dependent. We sold fencing, and garden stuff. We delivered home heating fuel. And grew more plants. We delivered lots and lots of fertilizer to Beall Greenhouses, world-famous for their roses. And fertilizers and other supplies to the many berry & other farmers. We worked hard. The kids grew. The business grew, and changed—so many changes over the years. Vashon changed and changed some more. And so did we. We adapted, and survived.

In the late 70's we had a chance to buy a piece of ground at the south end of town; 2.86 acres. The oil business had gone, with fuel lines at the gas stations, and limited fuel, the headaches of allocating the product, it was nice to see it go. We had long before closed up the tanks at the old Standard Oil dock. We built the tank farm (where so many of you now buy your gas) Later selling that facility to Williams, who later added the gas station. Beall Greenhouses closed; they could no longer compete on a world market. And so our two biggest revenue sources were gone. We adjusted, we struggled, we survived. The kids grew some more. The business grew, evolved. Changed. There were good times and hard times. One of my sister's sons came to live with us. My father died. My mother had MS, and so she came to live with us. An already crowded house became more so.

In the late 70's, the parent company (Western Farmers) we worked with, filed for bankruptcy. They owned the inventory. We had 10 days to raise the money to buy it from them. We mortgaged our house. Became an independent business. And learned a lot more; about business, about banking, about working long, hard hours, and grew some more.

Two years later we became an Ace Hardware store. We spent several years in the hardware business.(1982-1996) And the business grew; 70% of our sales were garden or farm related at that point. We really needed to be in/on the land south of town, in a new building, in order to keep growing. After two, almost three years of fighting with the county over permitting things, and fighting with the banks over money issues, we had to stop. It was the mid 80’s—the US was in a depression. Two major businesses had filed for bankruptcy on Vashon, and that didn’t excite the money folks. We realized it wasn't going to happen. We were unsuccessful. In the late 80's we sold the land. My husband, Loyd, was having heart trouble. We had taken on a business partner as part of the attempt to get the new building built—and now he(the partner) wanted out. His wife wanted to move to Oregon. I was driving the hay and feed truck at night, and running the business during the day. The 80's were hard. Our house burnt. My Mother had to be put in a nursing home. My husband was ill. I was exhausted. my partner wanted out. We soId my land, my dream; to take care of things that life demanded be taken care of. I ALMOST gave up. But giving up has never been part of me. So we went on. Loyd got better. Went back to driving. And we decided to remodel our old building—and the business grew. At this point we were more a nursery and garden center than a hardware store. Every inch was packed with plants. Things were hard, and yet so rewarding.

Then in March of 1991 I fell off the front loading dock. Woke up in the hospital. I spent two plus years in physical and neurological rehab. I had to learn everything over. It was very, very hard. I ALMOST gave up. But you see, I don't give up. And then, slowly, I could walk again. I could talk, and read, and learn, and I did.

While recovering, I started writing garden articles about what to do, and when do it.—later much more. It helped me learn. And people liked the “Kathy’s Corner’ printouts in corner of the weekly sales fliers.. Although I still have trouble with mixing words up some, it was all good. And so life continued. 

The girls grew up. The business continued to grow. In the fall of 1991, the people, who had purchased the land south of town, offered to lease it to us for a few months. They knew we needed a place to 'hold' our plants when the big trucks came in, and of course we were still trying to grow things. I was having so much pain, and trouble with all the rehab, and I wanted my land back. I remember thinking “Well if I couldn't buy it back  then this was the next best thing”. And so we leased it back. And the rest, as they say, is history. More or less. I hired a lady to grow and tend things. At some point she talked me into opening this ‘holding space’ for our retail plants. It was called ‘Ace's Other Garden Place’. Eventually the Ace Hardware Store corporation told us we couldn’t use that as our name, and so one sunny afternoon, David Erue showed up with a new sign, using the name from our written hands outs….

…a sign with the name Kathy’s Corner on it, and here we are. In 1994 our grower left the nursery; it was in May, and I needed to find someone special to run the nursery— hard to do. So I went down for the summer so I could take my time and find the right person... I never went back to the hardware store (well that's a white lie, I had to 'run' it, but I did less and less). My passion was plants and people. Not hammers and toilet rings. At that point we had somewhere around 35 people working for us. I really didn't want to put those folks out of work. So I kept the hardware store open. In the fall of 1996 we attended our last ACE trade show. I knew when I was there that I had to chase my dream. And selling hammers wasn't it. 

The dream was the nursery. The passion was plants.

December 31st 1996 we closed the hardware store. We gave up our Ace Hardware franchise and all the great advantages; of better pricing, dating and so much more. And instead, we planted plants. Grew plants. Lots and lots of plants. We built four greenhouses on the land south of town. Two from kits—Loyd didn't like them, so he adapted them. Then Loyd built two more—himself. He bent the pipe; he even built the bender to do that. Welded the whole thing together. All with a torch. We had no 220 to run a real welder. We grew a huge amount of product. Well, it seemed huge to us. Lots and lots of different crops all together in the same houses. No one had told me that you couldn’t grow that many different plants together. I made it work. I remember Danny Takao (a large California grower) coming up to visit and talking with us because he had heard what we were doing, and couldn't believe it. He came to see for himself. Wonderful man. I learned so much that day. 

Things were good—then came 9-11. It was tough. Then things got a bit better. But it was tough, maybe even really tough for a while. And something had changed. People changed. The world had changed. We just didn't really know it yet. People were afraid. Angry. Changed, in ways we are just now really understanding. Or maybe we will truly never understand.

Then in 2004, Loyd got sick again. No one could figure out what was wrong. He went to doctors who sent him to more doctors, and slowly but surely—over two years—it was clear he was dying. Then one day a miracle happened. I was showing some new hydrangeas (Quick Fire) to a customer. A customer who was fairly new to the island, who loved plants, especially new plants. He watched Loyd walk up the driveway. Slowly. Very slowly. He asked me, ‘what’s wrong with Loyd’. I told him the truth. That we didn't know. That no one could figure it out, that he was dying, that maybe he had 6 weeks or so left. He started asking questions. Turned out he was a doctor. Not just any doctor but a specialist in the top in his field. He, over the next few weeks, figured out what was wrong, and sent us to a surgeon.

Loyd spent 10 days in the hospital and then recovered.

Fast forward to 2012. He is 74 years old and he works a full day; 8-12 hours every day, 6 or 7 days a week. And by working I mean, laying stone, running a weed eater, driving the tractor, building fences, and anything else that needs doing. And then, in his 'spare time,’ he grows acres of vegetables to sell at the store. We are so in love with growing plants.... 

Now back-in-time, suddenly its 2008- the world crashed. Our USA. Not my little world, but the real world. People weren't buying plants. They were scared. They watched their retirements, their savings, their jobs, all disappear. And we were in trouble, just like the rest of the world. Maybe worse. I had paid cash for everything, except my plant plugs, since 1996. And now there was no way you were going to get the banks to give you a credit line. Even if you were golden. And we were maybe, maybe bronze. And so we muddled along. One long day after another. Cutting staff, cutting inventory. I was quitting. I could feel the fight, the drive, the want-to, just draining away. Day by day. Bill by bill. Until this last year… (which story you have). 

Our world had gone crazy. Again. Or maybe it had been slowing down for a long time? My back, injured in the 1991 accident, and abused over all the years of loading and unloading semi-loads of hay, wrestling cows, getting tossed around by horses, and planting thousands and thousands of plants, by hand, all added up to trouble...I could no longer feel my right leg. The pain in my back was more than I could deal with. Surgery was not an option. The doctors put me on pain pills. Patted me on the head and sent me on my way. Told me to learn to live with it.

In 2010, I remember sitting in the cold; the heater was not working in the retail house, wondering why I was trying any more. Obviously people didn't care any more. I couldn't walk—how do you run a nursery if you can't walk? My leg hurt, and my back was unbearable. Then... I read an article (in Nov or Dec I think, by Angela Treadwell-Palmer from Plants Nouveau)... She made me laugh... I laughed for the first time in months. (I so wish I still had a copy of that blog.) I wrote her a thank-you; for her blog, or whatever it was, because it had touched me, inside, made a connection. I thanked her for giving me hope. She answered my note. I think she thought I was nuts. That was the beginning of hope. What a precious gift. A simple 4 letter word. Hope.... Worth more than a million dollars. She gave me—hope. 

I began to believe again, dream again. But she couldn't give me legs… and one Saturday, in January, 2011 I fell. I shattered my shoulder, and the bone in the upper arm. I worked for three hours with my arm in a sling fashioned out of a pair of pants. Because I don't give up. Right? Then ended up being transported by ambulance to the city and the hospital. Three times in the next two weeks, I ended up in the emergency room as a result of the fall. The last trip was DTV's blood clots—many of them, in my leg. It almost cost me my leg. My life. Spring passed in a blur. Summer is a faint memory. Fall came and went someplace. Then winter landed. My health insurance had covered some of the bills, but not enough of them, and I just didn't know what I was going to do. Sales sucked. No one cared. I was done. I was at minus one, the bottom of the scale.

Our local garden club found out that I was thinking about closing up, because I couldn't walk (or a fill-in-the-blank excuse), I couldn't get around the nursery, so me oh my, whine whine, what was I going to do? Well the ladies & gentlemen of the local garden club found a power scooter that was small enough to fit in and out of the aisles, yet large and strong enough to handle the rough ground, and haul me (I'm not small) around. It saved my life. It saved the nursery. Gave me more hope, and also VERY importantly, showed me how much I meant to these people. They wanted me here, and to be able to get around. I got cards in the mail, and funds to help with the medical bills. And in September, over Labor Day, another group of customers held an amazing event, raising enough money to pay all my medical bills, pay my health insurance for 4 months, and extra to go toward my medications. People made it clear they want us here. But more importantly, they filled me up. They filled me with the power of their caring. It was the most awesome evening of my life. Rich and poor, old and young, came to support me... And people realized they needed to shop. Even if they had little, they needed to help all our local businesses on Vashon—that many were suffering. Not just Kathy's Corner. And so the dream lived again—the belief was alive again. Hope was alive again. But still, the nursery was sad, and I still wasn't quite there... and then in January 2012, I knew I couldn't coast anymore. If I wanted it, I had to fight for it—like NEVER before.

And Chris, you have most of the rest of the story; written this spring to you. The ending has yet to be written. But one thing I am very sure of; the last year has been the most rewarding of my life. I was able to find a way to renew and live my dream. I had forgotten that. I have been so very fortunate so many many times. Only in my head had the dream died. It was there all along, I just had gotten so caught up in the mud that I forgot—if it doesn't rain, the plants can't grow. And sometimes the rain will make a little mud. I was and am blessed with the most wonderful man in the world. I have a roof over my head, and food to eat each and every day. I have the hardest working, most loyal employees that exist. We have customers and friends who truly care about both our business and us. 

Thank you for listening. This was way to long, and very much rambling. Missing huge parts, covering huge parts. Many of you have been a part of this story in ways you will never know. I know and I thank you each and everyone.

With family... with life itself... all you have to do is believe... in yourself and in those around you. And if you do, you will win. You will be at peace and know that you have done your very best. And even if, even if you have to close the gate, you'll be able to hold your head up and walk away knowing you did everything, everything you could and more. 

Thank you for your part in our story

—Kathy