How My Backyard Sanctuary Balances Life as a CEO
- Michelle D'Ambra
- Jun 7
- 6 min read
As the CEO of multiple companies, my days are filled with decisions, deadlines, financials, compliance issues, personnel matters, and an endless stream of problems that need solutions.
I genuinely enjoy the challenge. I've spent years building a career that requires leadership, strategy, decisiveness, and the ability to keep moving forward when there isn't always a clear answer.
Over the years, I've learned that to do that well, I need balance.
What I didn't realize was that balance would eventually grow in my own backyard.
It Started With a Sympathy Plant
After losing my dad, someone sent me a sympathy plant basket. At the time, it seemed like a simple gesture.
One plant became several. Several became dozens.
Some have been propagated and shared with family, friends, and neighbors. What was originally given during a time of loss has continued to grow and live on in ways I never expected.
Looking back, plants taught me a lot.
Some thrived immediately.
Some struggled.
Some surprised me.
Some nearly died before making a comeback.
In many ways, they reflected lessons I've seen throughout life. Growth happens on its own timeline. Sometimes progress is obvious. Sometimes it's happening beneath the surface. And sometimes the biggest transformations happen after a period that looks completely stagnant.
Sometimes all you can do is create the right conditions and let nature do the rest.
Even now, few things make me happier than spotting a new leaf unfurling or successfully propagating a plant that I can share with someone else.
My mom often giggles and makes comments about my home jungle.
Then the Frogs Moved In
As my indoor plant collection grew, I naturally started creating more plant-filled spaces outdoors.
For a couple of years, I had a few planters where tree frogs and toads would occasionally take refuge. The more I noticed them, the more I found myself creating spaces specifically for them.
One planter became two. A few tropical plants became many.
Living next to a wooded reserve means wildlife is always nearby, but once I started paying attention, I began noticing frogs everywhere.
On windows.
On leaves.
On patio furniture.
Sometimes sitting by the front door as if they were waiting for an invitation inside.
Before long, I was building frog hotels, adding water sources, and creating dedicated frog and toad planters. The frog hotels were really nothing more than pieces of PVC pipe tucked among the plants. It took about two months after building my first frog planter before I spotted a frog sitting in one of the PVC pipes. It was such a joy!
Apparently word spread.
Because the frogs arrived. Then the toads arrived.
Then more frogs arrived. Then more toads arrived. Before long, I was spotting them all over the property.
The frogs weren't the only ones who appreciated the habitat. At one point I discovered a small snake living inside the aloe planter. Instead of being alarmed, my first thought was, "Well, I guess someone else likes it here too."
That's when it really hit me that these weren't just planters anymore. They had become tiny ecosystems.
During the warmer months, dragonflies patrol the yard like tiny helicopters. Some mornings there are dozens of them hovering through the backyard. Every improvement I made seemed to attract another layer of life.
The Week of Five Baby Toads
A recent rainy week perfectly captured what this little sanctuary has become.
Over the course of several rainy days, I relocated five baby toads from areas where I worried they might dry out on the concrete. The frog planters and PVC pipes offered shade, moisture, and places to hide.
At some point I apparently became the neighborhood amphibian relocation specialist. The funny thing is that it didn't feel unusual at all.
I genuinely cared where they ended up.
I wanted them safe.
I wanted them to have a chance to grow.
Nature is still nature. There are birds, snakes, and plenty of other creatures that call the sanctuary home. I wasn't trying to eliminate that reality. I just figured the little toads had a better chance in the planters than out in the middle of the patio.
That nurturing side of me doesn't get much use when I'm reviewing financial reports or helping solve business problems, but it shows up immediately when I'm trying to figure out the safest place to release a tiny toad.
Enter the Birds
After the frogs and toads came the birds. Adding bird feeders seemed harmless enough.
Then the birds became regulars. Then they became familiar. Then they received names.
Ozzie and Harriet were among the first birds I started recognizing individually. Before long, I knew their routines almost as well as they knew mine. They learned where the feeders were located and would patiently wait nearby when I took them down during heavy rain. On more than one occasion, I found them sitting in the pine tree watching and waiting for breakfast service to resume.
Then there is Axel. Axel has absolutely no issue expressing his opinions when the feeders are unavailable. More than once I've heard him loudly complaining from the fence line while staring directly toward the house. Apparently, if the feeders aren't available, he feels it is important that management be notified immediately.
And then there's Burt, an Eastern Bluebird who became another regular visitor. Unlike Axel, Burt tends to mind his own business and quietly stop by for a meal before heading on his way.
Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking of them as birds visiting a feeder. I started thinking of them as neighbors stopping by.
The Great Wildlife Investigation
Every sanctuary has its challenges. Mine arrived when bird seed started disappearing at an unusual rate and feeders were being mysteriously disturbed overnight.
As anyone who knows me can probably predict, I immediately launched an investigation.
Security footage was reviewed.
Evidence was analyzed.
Movement patterns were studied.
Suspects were identified.
Suspects were cleared.
Neighbors weighed in.
Online wildlife experts were consulted.
Theories evolved.
At one point I may have spent more time investigating missing bird seed than some people spend researching a major purchase.
The prime suspect changed multiple times. Depending on the day and video footage, it was either a raccoon or an opossum. The whole thing became so entertaining that it turned into its own ongoing storyline.
What started as missing bird seed somehow became a neighborhood event. Neighbors weighed in, online commenters offered theories, and everyone seemed invested in identifying the culprit.
The funny part is that my approach wasn't much different than how I solve problems at work. Gather information. Test assumptions. Challenge conclusions. Follow the evidence. Keep looking until the answer makes sense.
Apparently those skills transfer surprisingly well to backyard wildlife investigations.
Why This Matters
People often ask how I manage the pressure that comes with running multiple companies. The truth is that this sanctuary helps more than they realize.
My work requires a lot of masculine energy—leadership, strategy, decision-making, problem-solving, responsibility, and constantly moving things forward.
Because I work from home, this little sanctuary has become part of my daily routine. Throughout the day, I take short breaks to check on the birds, frogs, toads, lizards, and plants. Sometimes I'll pull a few weeds. Other times I'll look for new leaves, refill water sources, or see who has checked into the frog hotels.
Those few minutes help reset my brain.
In fact, I've been known to get upset about something, walk outside to pull weeds while thinking it through, and come back with a much more grounded response.
There is something about putting my hands in the dirt, listening to the birds, and focusing on something simple that helps me separate reaction from perspective.
The frogs don't care about quarterly reports.
The finches don't need performance reviews.
The dragonflies aren't interested in strategic planning sessions.
Nature simply exists. And for a few minutes, I get to exist right alongside it.
When I'm watching birds gather at the feeders, checking on frogs after a rainstorm, admiring a new leaf on a plant, or relocating yet another tiny toad, I'm not thinking about deadlines, budgets, or compliance issues.
I'm thinking about whether Ozzie and Harriet found breakfast. Whether Axel is filing another complaint.
Whether the frogs checked into their hotels.
Or whether a suspicious nighttime visitor is about to trigger another investigation.
It's a completely different part of who I am.
And I've come to realize I need both.
The Sanctuary I Never Planned
Looking back, it's amazing to think that all of this began with a sympathy plant basket after losing my dad.
What started as a gesture of comfort eventually became an indoor jungle, frog hotels, bird feeders, wildlife investigations, amphibian rescues, and countless moments of connection with the natural world.
I never set out to create a wildlife sanctuary. I simply kept saying yes to the things that brought me joy.
One plant led to another. One frog led to a frog hotel. One bird feeder led to Ozzie, Harriet, Axel, and Burt.
And somewhere along the way, nature accepted the invitation.
For all the titles I've held throughout my career, caretaker of this tiny corner of nature may be one of my favorites.
The birds, the frogs, the toads, the occasional snake, a neighborhood cat named Daisy, and apparently a few local kids who stop by to report bullying incidents or announce they've found a lost dog all became part of the story too.
I never intended to become responsible for any of it, but somehow this little corner of the world keeps bringing me things to care for—and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
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