Tonight the sun set over snow-covered fields. March 1st. The ground is still frozen. The rows are resting. Winter hasn’t fully let go. But the light is changing. The days are staying lighter longer. The sun lingers just a little more each evening. It feels small — but it feels steady. Outside, it still looks like winter. Inside, the grow shelves are filling. Tiny seeds are pushing through soil. Herbs are reaching toward the light. My husband built two more shelves this week,

It’s almost the end of February. Valentine’s Day has come and gone once again. The rush has quieted, and winter still lingers outside. Year after year, I continue to bring in Valentine’s flowers. They aren’t grown here this time of year — but they are the freshest I can find. Each stem chosen carefully. Leaves stripped. Bouquets wrapped and arranged by me. Every flower thoughtfully inspected before it ever leaves my hands. Because even in winter, beauty matters. Mixed bouquet

Winter on the Flower Farm Twenty inches of snow will quiet just about everything. The driveway disappears. The fields become one long stretch of white. Even the stand looks like it’s tucked in for winter. After the storm, my husband and I found ourselves sledding down the driveway like kids. Snow has a way of asking you to choose — complain… or play. Later that same day, I bundled up and walked out into the middle of the field to “check on the tulips.” They’re not doing anyth

A story of finding gentleness after years of urgency. For thirty years, my life was measured in emergencies. I learned how to speak calmly when people were breaking. How to listen when silence on the line meant something terrible had happened. How to hang up a headset, walk out into daylight, and somehow keep moving as if my heart wasn’t still racing. There were no flowers in those moments. No soft landings. Just sirens echoing long after the calls were over. I didn’t know th

January is the month no one really talks about. The holidays are over. The decorations are being packed back into boxes. The noise fades. The excitement passes. And suddenly you’re left with quiet — the kind you don’t notice until it fills the room. January at the farm feels like a long exhale. After months of muddy boots, full buckets, late nights at the stand, and trying to be everything to everyone, the world finally slows down. The fields are frozen solid. The stand is em

This season was beautiful. It was also messy. Emotional. Hard. Hope-filled. A year that asked me to dig a little deeper than I ever expected. The summer was hot  — the kind of heat that tests every ounce of patience in the field. And life outside the farm wasn’t easy either. I faced heartbreak this year — saying goodbye to a close friend far too soon. That loss shook me, and made the quiet moments on the farm feel even quieter. But here’s what I learned: Even in grief, you sh

Thanksgiving morning feels like a pause — a breath. A moment of quiet before kitchens warm, before stories are shared, before laughter and clinking dishes fill the rooms we love. The farm sits still in the cool air of late November, and in that stillness, gratitude rises to meet me. This year has been full — full of growth, beauty, learning, and change. Full of early mornings with flowers in my hands and evenings spent reflecting on how far things have come. Full of moments t

I’m not sure how many of you read last week’s blog, but it was one that came straight from the heart. Writing it reminded me why sharing these pieces of my life and this little farm matters so much — because the seasons we walk through, even the hard ones, shape us in meaningful ways. Today, as I brought up our amaryllis and added a touch of holiday décor, I took a step back and looked at my little roadside stand — the way it shifts with each season — and I couldn’t help but

Sometimes the garden teaches us what words can’t — about loss, love, and the quiet way life continues to bloom. This week, life reminded me how fragile it really is. I lost a dear friend, and the days since have felt heavy, quiet, almost unreal. Out in the flower field, most of the rows are empty now. My husband cleared them recently, preparing the ground for rest and renewal. Yet even in that emptiness, a few blooms remain — a single row of cosmos still smiling in the sunlig

As October fades into November, I’ve been slowly putting the flower farm to bed. The dahlias are dug and stored, tulip bulbs tucked into the soil, and the field now sits quiet — cleared and waiting for next season. It’s a peaceful sight, one that carries both gratitude and a hint of exhaustion. The mums are still putting on a show, along with a few other lingering blooms around the farm. The single patch of cosmos my husband left in the field makes me smile. Flower farming is

October has settled in, bringing cooler mornings, golden light, and the kind of quiet that only comes after a busy season. The fields...

Sitting here tonight, reflecting on the past months, there’s something about September that feels like a deep breath. The mornings greet...

August is in full swing here on the flower farm — heavy with heat, rich with color, and already carrying the quiet whispers of fall. My...

It’s been a while since I’ve written here — my last post was in March, and somehow we’ve flown through spring and landed right in the...

Spring is just around the corner, with the first day arriving in 14 days. This weekend also brings daylight savings, and I absolutely...

I absolutely loved the arrival of February here at the flower farm. After a peaceful and restful January, I felt rejuvenated and ready...

January has arrived. Things have been quiet here at the flower farm, and I’ve been using the time to catch up on books that have been...

We hope everyone had a wonderful weekend! It's hard to believe the New Year is right around the corner, and with that said, today marks...

Sitting here this evening in front of the woodstove, I find myself reflecting on this past year at the flower farm. Closing the stand the...

As I sit here this afternoon, I find myself reflecting on this wonderful past month here on the flower farm. I feel so blessed to be able...