Fruition Flowers (2024)

attainment of anything desired; accomplishment
2. enjoyment, as of something realized.
3. state of bearing fruit.

17/11/2024

It’s been nearly a week since they’ve left and I’m still finding Easter egg shells around the house. Well, really just remnants of the mismatched plastic shells, having been torn at their flimsy hinges during our scavenger hunt last weekend. These precious little people aren’t mine, but they love when I tease them that I’ll steal them from my sisters to live with me forever, and I love when they fight in the backseat about how my name is spelled: ‘TT’ or ‘Titi’. When they’re gone I get nostalgic over even the messes they leave behind; crumbs of air dry clay in the dining room, a broken nutcracker under the coffee table from their first ballet, and the pieces of crayons that got cracked in the absence of nuts. Someone said to me, months ago, when I was delivering flowers to the country store what a beautiful life I’d created for myself, and they were right, but it’s not just for me, it’s for them too. I wished someone had shown me as a kid that there were other ways to live this finite time on earth than chasing a salary and benefits; that perhaps pursuing something that satisfies my self, but also to produce something with value ethically. While they are still innocently unaware of the election results that will shape the world they’re due to inherent, the littlest ones are on a copycat kick, one getting mad at the other for also voting for Burger King for their pre-ballet dinner. While their world of wealth distribution is still measured in Pokémon cards, I’m always here for them to take a weekend off (without a pesky time off request) to make a mess and clean it up when they’re long gone. I loathe to think what messes they will be cleaning up when we are gone. Thank you for capturing these moments, because eventually we will all be dead; a fact crystallized in another backseat brawl that ended with a three year old screaming ‘I’m not gonna die’ while his sister insists we all will. 💀

16/08/2024

Saturday I stepped on a nail. Specifically an upturned piece of strapping pierced with a roofing nail that fell off the end wall of the tunnel ages ago. In an effort to avoid my own tragic death by tetanus, my left arm was an absolute noodle by Tuesday. It didn’t keep me from cutting the juiciest apricot lisianthus for a local designer, and this isn’t even half of it. When she contacted me to see if I could save her week with forty stems, I knew I could, I’d been drowning in them for almost two weeks, tucking them into mixed bouquets; true long-stemmed treasures hidden away in paper sleeves. It’s all felt like that lately, high yields and higher stakes as we slip into peak season on the farm, and the reassuring realization that I’ll always have just as much as I need. If there’s excess, it can bloom out there for no one. Although the job is infinitely harder with my bum arm, the posts needed to be driven in this week to support the dahlias through September, and hurricane season. Struggling under the weight of a post hole pounder, I’m still grateful that my foot found that nail before the beloved John Deere mower did. If we couldn’t cut the grass, I might lose my mind, sliding around in wet sandals that keep catching slugs. The kids today say ‘touch grass’ but for someone who spends most of my days outdoors, my sanity is sustained in cutting grass, it’s like cleaning your room and washing your windows all in one go, so satisfying (another phrase my niece and nephews now over use). So, to my fellow farmers who are feeling the aches of August; go cut grass, surely you’ll feel better.

01/07/2024

Just like that, it’s July. It’s hard to believe that the year is halfway over, my brain doesn’t believe it because I measure mine by brides. So far this summer, I’ve only sent eight of them down the aisle clutching my creations. While it gives me endless joy to cross things off lists, weddings aren’t always one of them. I love my brides, so letting them go from the grips of wedding planning is tough, since it’s often the only thing that tethers us. What softens the blow is all the ways I get hyped up by strangers in hotel elevators, or moms whose babies are getting married and they’re crying over a cuff that I made, out of materials that I grew. The wedding day energy is electric, and I just feel fortunate to be in the force field of it all. Saturdays post wedding exhaustion was countered by elation when I came home to a little surprise from a friend who found me through flowers; perhaps the most powerful force in my field-grown world these days. This is me, taking a big old bow, as July is an intentionally slow month for me, just one wedding, but so many road trips, beach days, and berry picking to be done in a month. Since I don’t live within the boxes of a calendar, I nearly missed American grown flowers week, we just happen to be right in the middle of that too.

19/04/2024

The face of a kid who can’t comprehend food scarcity. She’s so far removed from it that she’s been practicing her pronunciation of ‘croissant’ for that promised trip to Paris for her tenth birthday. Even after explaining what a food pantry was, she wanted to know more, begging me to let her stay at to hand daffodils out to folks who were there for something to eat, not frivolous flowers. She was disappointed we weren’t going to sell them…’not even for like ten cents?!’ -a budding capitalist. It made me think of her winter work making a business plan, she called me from her watch to ramble on about said plan, punctuated by the over emphasized word ‘payday’. Meanwhile, me, a business owner who should be the one planning for future paydays, I try not to let myself get caught up in little financial failures like too many daffodils. I can’t be bothered with business plans that pertain to each and every crop, but I’m happy to cut every flower out in the field, so they’re not left there, blooming for no one. Thank you and for being the best kind of bother by asking for centerpieces for your events, it’s kept me busy during these weddingless weekends and reminded me that there are never too many daffodils. I told my sweet little niece that we have plenty more daffodils where those came from, and when you have an abundance of something, you should share it with those who don’t. For any of you who might be experiencing your own payday today, I’ll have these stocked at 💸

07/04/2024

Here’s to being more like a hellebore. Sure, I’m not one to rush out of hibernation, seed starting isn’t my strong suit. But the notion of living all my years in one place, preferably a well shaded piece of New Hampshire is my squinty blue eyed dream come true. I’m trying harder to be a perennial princess, disappearing for the winter to visit other hellebores living in Scottish castles or formal French gardens, banking away all my energy and inspiration to bloom bigger each spring. Their rubbery stems and leathery blooms were unfazed by those greasy four inches of April snow. They sprung up to show their leathery faces the very next day, like me in a way. If you’re one of those who asks what flower farmers do all winter, it’s this: hibernate in hopes of storing enough energy to bloom for another year. And tax accounting, seed starting, reading, dahlia dividing, garden planning, wallpapering, wedding proposal writing, applying for federal funding, and above all traveling to see what’s blooming elsewhere. Oftentimes travel seeds a subtle affirmation that I’m planted in the most perfect place in the whole world, near my own hill of hellebores. I guess I’m not so far off from becoming one.

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