Letting The Field Become Itself
I’ve spent the last few weeks planning next season.
Like most seed orders, it started with pure excitement. My first instinct? Add everything. At one point nearly 30 varieties found their way into my cart. Every one of them beautiful. Every one with something to offer.
Before I could click purchase, something told me to wait.
A weekend away from the farm gave me enough space to step back, think and ask not, “will this grow well?” or “will people like it?” but “does it belong here?”.
I emptied the cart and started over.
This time filling it with a smaller, more thoughtfully gathered collection.
Flowers that share something with the lisianthus. Flowers inspired by prairie landscapes, cottage gardens and forgotten field edges. Flowers with movement, resilience, texture, intrigue and just a little bit of whimsy. Flowers that feel as though they’ve always belonged in a meadow.
I’m realizing that building a flower farm isnt only about learning what to grow. It’s about learning what not to grow, too.
In the field, the lisianthus are blooming one stem after another. Some mornings I’m bringing in full buckets to watch them open, taking notes on stem length, branching, vase life and the small differences between each variety.
The apricots are still making me wait.
That’s okay.
More volunteer flowers have appeared too. Planted by squirrels or birds, I’ll never know. Black-eyed Susans, ammi and even a lone red coneflower have found their place. They feel less like weeds and more like reminders that nature always has a way.
Between the weeding, feeding, harvesting and observing, I’ve almost forgotten what this season was really about.
It’s about paying attention. Watching. Learning. Building trust in a flower that asks for patience long before it’s harvested.
Soon I’ll begin planting the first perennials that will become part of Quinnfield’s long-term landscape. Some to fill bouquets. Others simply because they belong.
I think that’s one of the things I love most about flower farming.
Every farmer has a different vision and every field becomes a reflection of the person tending it.
I’m looking forward to watching this one become itself.
Till next time,
- C