What the Flowers Taught Me
“No matter how beautiful your spot in the world is, without community it doesn’t really work.”
It was early August. I panicked to Steven that our farm was going to look ugly this fall because everything we planted in spring was either dying or transitioning out. (After 5 years of farming, somehow I still panic in early August and give in to the belief that nothing will ever, ever grow again. 🤦🏻♀️)
And ya know what he did? I saw him out there one morning planting zinnias and cosmos like there was no tomorrow. A second sowing, so we would have them all the way into fall. He didn’t even tell me he was going to do it.
You might think it’s me who believes in beauty. I DO. But I let fear and worry get in the way so often, and I let “what it once was” hinder me from envisioning what something could be.
Steven doesn’t let the past hinder what could be. And he doesn’t wait - he gets out there and does what he can. I can learn so much from him about vision and hope.
When will I learn that looking back and pining for the past will never get me anywhere?
As I walked through the fields two months later, I was overwhelmed to the point of tears. Our farm was an ocean of flowers.
All the way into early November, there were more flowers of every size and color than ever, many still laden with sleepy honeybees.
Things I won’t forget about the 2021 flower fields:
Sunrises holding coffee mugs with light shining through cosmos petals.
Sweaty afternoons with craned necks, observing pollen-laden bees in the sunflowers.
Golden hour walks to the top of the hill to select zinnias the exact color of a tangerine or all the shades of a unicorn’s mane.
My 7-year-old running through the wildflowers saying, “Look Mommy, I’m a butterfly!”
The last day before the frost when we had a photo shoot with every flower we could hold.
At our Kindred Dinner this past October for 112 people, we had grown adults frolicking through the flower fields. It’s still surreal to see people I don’t even know enjoying what’s growing here on our land. I ran out of vases twice - I didn’t know all the women and men would want to pick flowers. We could barely get them out of the flower fields when dinner was served.
And then I got to seize the moment with some of my best girlfriends in the flower field one evening before the first frost. These women each hold a special place in my life - they are part of the intimate community we’re cultivating here. It takes hard work, and we’ve seen the fruits of the investment. Sharing the flower fields with them and my precious mom who was visiting from New Jersey that evening just felt right.
There are so many hard things going on in the world and our relationships. It’s so easy to brush aside what doesn’t seem essential, but please don’t put flowers in that category.
They are absolutely essential.
The frost finally came in early November and took all the flowers overnight. I admit, I felt really sad the next day. I let myself feel it - I had been expecting it for months. But I couldn’t stay there. Because this time, I believed - truly believed - the vision of what it could be again - not just for ourselves but for other people who need it, too.
There are many uncertain things in the world, but it’s so good to feel sure of some things:
Our efforts to sow beauty are never, ever wasted.
Beauty is worth the struggle.
Beauty draws people together.
That is what that flowers taught me.
