Some people talk to their dogs. I suppose I have my own version of that with my flowers. After spending so much time growing them, watching them change, harvesting them, and caring for them, I sometimes catch myself wondering what each little stem’s story is going to be. Not so much what the flower is feeling, but where it might be headed and what little piece of someone’s life it might become part of.
When I cut a flower from my own field, or gather a wildflower while foraging around the farm, I sometimes find myself giving it a little imagined future. Hello, little strawflower stem. I wonder where you’re going. Maybe you’ll be tucked into a fall wedding bouquet this year. Maybe you’ll end up in a wholesale order and spend the winter in a florist’s shop, waiting for someone to find the perfect place for you. Maybe you’ll become part of a bridal bouquet, held by a bride on one of the most meaningful days of her life. Maybe you’ll eventually make your way into someone’s home, dried and preserved, and stay there for years as a little reminder of a season, a wedding, or a special moment.
I think that's one of the things I love most about growing flowers for weddings. I’m not just growing something beautiful and then selling it. I get to imagine the story that comes after the garden. A flower that begins as a tiny seed in my hands might eventually sit beside a wedding dress, be photographed alongside a cake, decorate a table where families gather, or be carried down an aisle by someone who has spent years imagining that day. There is something incredibly special about knowing that these flowers are leaving my little farm and becoming part of stories that are much bigger than mine.
Flower farming has become so many different things to me. It's gardening and being in nature, problem-solving, and hard physical involved. There's also the challenge of figuring out how to actually sell what I grow, which is a whole different kind of farming in itself. But somewhere underneath all of that, it has become a kind of nourishment for me. It settles me. It gives my hands something to do and my mind somewhere to wander. There is something about walking through the field, checking on the plants, cutting flowers, filling buckets, and bringing armfuls of colour into the drying room that makes me feel grounded. It's both relaxing and challenging, and somehow that combination is exactly what I need.
And then there's the creating. Once the flowers are harvested and dried, I get to see them in a completely different way. A stem that looked ordinary in the field can suddenly become the tiny detail that makes a bouquet feel finished. A handful of goldenrod, some strawflowers, a few delicate grasses or wildflowers can start to look like something with a personality of its own. I love arranging them and wondering who might eventually hold them, where they might live, and what memories they might become attached to.
So I suppose I'll keep talking to my flowers in my own quiet way. Not because I think they can answer, but because after spending so much time growing them, it's hard not to wonder about their little journeys. Every stem leaves the field with a story still waiting to happen. And I feel incredibly lucky that, for a small part of that story, I get to be the one who grows it.
