Little Fields Floral (2024)

12/04/2024

Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow! Our sweet little St. Michaels Farmers Market returns to tomorrow morning. Same time, same place. 206 S. Talbot St., 8:30-11:30 a.m. Free parking! SNAP and WIC! We’ll have more tulips than we could ever possibly know what to do with, and there will be so many lovely fresh greens, and the first asparagus, and all the dogs, so come out and see us through these in-like-a-lion winds and this cool weather that won’t last long through the peak of spring. ✨

09/04/2024

A moment of appreciation for, without a doubt, the single best flower that we’ve ever grown. A misfit in a sea of soft pink blooms, and the spitting image of spring radicchio, a castelfranco perhaps, which feels like the only flower from this day forward that we should ever grow. Chicories only, forever and always. (And loads of tulips now available in the webshop, link in bio. Though not this one, it’s just for me. )

04/04/2024

Tulip season at its most splendid thanks to cooler days and a deep drink from those big April rains. Orders are now open through noon tomorrow for delivery this weekend. littlefieldsfloral.com/shop ✨

02/04/2024

In the beginning, this little farm of ours didn’t know the first thing about growing flowers. We planted a few seeds and got lucky with a few blooms, but back then, most of our designs were w**ds and wild things mindfully foraged from around the shore. This was the magic of Little Fields—those moments knee-deep in the ditches of Delmarva, for a few stems of heliopsis, or goldenrod, or daisy, or clover, bug bites be damned. Those arms full of yarrow and queen anne’s lace. Those fists full of late spring grasses. A front seat tucked with day lilies. A trunk packed to the gills with red buds and cherry blossoms. Our first market days featured unruly branches of forsythia and dogwood, tiny bottles stuffed with sprigs of hyacinth, viburnum, and wild mustard, allergies be damned too. It took a lot of time, and didn’t make a lot of sense, and honestly, we miss it. This floral world funnels us into growing the same, successful flowers as everyone else, the luxe varieties that pack a bigger punch and higher profit. And we get why, but it has also made it a little bit harder for us to hold onto our sense of place. Fear not, we still love the lisianthus, the dahlias, the Dutch tulips, but this year, we’re also going to try to lean back into our old ways, when we can. Like these little kisses of the weeping cherry currently in bloom in our backyard. We hope you’ll all feel a little bit of that magic, too.

30/03/2024

Easter flowers looking lush. We are still doing last-minute orders for delivery today! Order by 1ish. Kent through Talbot counties, as well as Annapolis and DC! littlefieldsfloral.com/shop

25/03/2024

Easter bunnies! Spring chickens! We have flower arrangements available on the web shop for all of you and your weekends. Order now for Friday delivery. littlefieldsfloral.com/shop

23/03/2024

We’re just catching up after the launch of our first-ever CSA this week, which started in our hometown of Chestertown! It’s a new rhythm and we’re grateful for the folks in our community who offered us grace for being a lil late, who greeted the flowers with so much delight, and to Chester River Wine & Cheese Co. for hosting all the blooms. Also thankful for this cooler weather, giving the tulips more of a fighting chance, while the warm sun still beckons the ranunculus, peonies, foxglove, feverfew, delphinium, ammi, and yarrow of the later season to stretch a little bit taller every day. For the rest of our folks out there, we’ve got lots of flowers available for delivery this weekend. Order now via link in bio.

19/03/2024

Happy spring! The tulips are here! Now available on our web shop for local delivery between Kent and Talbot County! Order by noon to get yours today!

22/02/2024

KENT COUNTY! Our flower subscriptions are now live, featuring five special bouquets of spring’s very best and every-other-week pickup at our friends Chester River Wine & Cheese Co. starting in early April, maybe even late March, with a 10% discount store-wide at this time to boot! Treat yourself or gift a friend, with every purchase providing a direct investment into the forthcoming season of our lil farm. Just a very few left, via littlefieldsfloral.com/shop. ✨

13/02/2024

Talbot County! Our flower subscriptions are now live, featuring five special bouquets of spring’s very best and every-other-week pickup at Piazza Italian Market throughout the month of May and early June. Can’t routinely make it to the farmers market? Want first dibs on the peonies? Need another excuse to stock up on mortadella? Already scooping your Fox Briar Farm CSA? (Same time, same place.) Treat yourself or gift a friend, family member, or lover, with every purchase a direct investment into the forthcoming season of our lil farm. Just a few left, via littlefieldsfloral.com/shop. ✨

09/02/2024

Extra extra! It’s been a long time coming but we’re so excited to announce that our first-ever spring flower subscription is finally here! Like a CSA (“community supported agriculture”) from your local vegetable farmer, this five-week offering will feature one large bouquet of the new season’s very best, with every-other-week pickup at Chester River Wine & Cheese Co. (Kent County) and Piazza Italian Market (Talbot), starting in April and May, respectively—plus one LFF tee to boot. Treat yourself or gift one to a friend, family member, or lover—and consider your support an investment into our forthcoming season, the future of our lil farm, and the care of our land. This will be a limited first run, so snag now via littlefieldsfloral.com/shop.

07/02/2024

Spring dreaming. Anyone else see that their daffodils have already started to poke through the soil? Warm-sun days like these make the new season feel so very close, even while we work inside and Hoop lays beside the fireplace rather than beneath the breeze. Stay tuned for an exciting announcement, coming this week.

16/01/2024

Thinking about how many people in my life who have been longing for the return of a real snow. Like the fields and forests, our bones know that we need this time to rebuild our strengths. Who better to remind us than Mother Nature. Yesterday’s light dusting grew into an all-out snowstorm, only growing into the night. This morning, we put on our boots and stepped out into that most magical quiet. Doesn’t it feel like starting over? Sparrows and other songbirds darted between the long dead flowers that we left up for this very moment, and Hoop followed some deep scent that only he can smell out over the open field. The tulip bulbs, all tucked away, will welcome this cold spell. And we’ll try to remember to be thankful for it in a few short months, when they bloom again.

11/01/2024

We hope everyone’s fields are faring alright after all of yesterday’s rainfall. Otherwise a bit quiet over here lately as we use the slow and steady of early winter to prep the field, tidy up the shop, and plan for our upcoming season, which will be here before we know it, though we’re trying our best not to rush the time. We have something new and exciting coming for you in the next few days, y’all. Stay tuned.

13/12/2023

By the time the flowers are done, the thought of wreaths feels like a Herculean feat. But then I find myself on the old gravel driveway of my lifetime, snipping fir bows from our overgrown Christmas trees, reaching for branches from those great craggy cedars with their blue berries and chartreuse tips, running into neighbors kind enough to share the bounty of their magnolias and hollys, and suddenly I’m filled up again, one last burst before the new year. This past weekend, a few friends gathered to wrap their own wire and grapevine and bring the chaos of nature into their homes to mark the start of winter. Twice since, I’ve seen the same fox we saw that night, again trotting along with the local herd of deer, like he’s one of them, like they’re one in the same. They know better than we do. Now there’s ice on the creek. Paths piled with beech leaves. Another solstice waits just around the corner. Last call for evergreens via our web shop with delivery by end of week.

07/12/2023

We got some 4,000 tulips into the ground last week. Sun on our faces. Hands in the earth. Each a tiny act of hope in our little corner of this beautiful but heartbreaking world. May they bloom and bloom and bloom for all of you this spring.

30/11/2023

Busy fingers for a bit longer now. Time to bundle up, bring a cup of tea outside, and spend the slow senescing afternoons wrapping evergreens into holiday wreaths in the sun. Various sizes now available on the web shop for delivery late next week. ✨ littlefieldsfloral.com/shop

22/11/2023

Another market season has come and gone. A huge thank you to everyone who showed up to even just stop and smell our flowers. The market is a farmers market at its best. Everything sold is locally grown or made, with a big emphasis on ethical and sustainable practices. That means we don’t have the most vendors, but everyone there is perfecting their one little corner of things. You can get beautiful fresh-caught Chesapeake perch, and hard-to-find Dr. Martin’s lima beans, and heirloom Arkansas black apples, and certified organic free-range eggs, and chemical free popcorn, and shallots—shallots, people! For us, after five seasons, we look forward to seeing our community the most. Emory for his marigolds. Susan for lisianthus. Jim on his bicycle. Charlie with his book recommendations. And so many more. Folks who tell us about their gardens and bring us antique ball jars and whose babes and dogs and romances we’ve watched grow up over these years. All of their and your purchases make such a difference to every grower, to every maker, to our food system, to our economy, to the Eastern Shore. Thanks. We can’t wait to see y’all next year!

17/11/2023

We walked through the woods last week and harvested the first few bits of grapevine. A couple kisses of frost on the field have unfurled into a daily morning ritual, with the creek no longer able to keep the cold at bay. Now we move to the flowers that were cut and hung and dried through spring and summer to last the winter. Here I see May’s daisies, and June’s yarrow, and July’s scabiosa, and August’s lisianthus, and September’s goldenrod. Wreaths will be available at the market this weekend — our last of the season! — and on our website via link in bio while supplies last.

11/11/2023

Talbot County! We’re back at the market tomorrow, and we’ve missed it so. Before you head into Easton for the requisite cream of crab soup at Waterfowl, swing by St. Mike’s for our biggest eucalyptus harvest yet, which smells like a desert-y dream. And the very first of our dried floral wreaths to carry the flowers through winter, too! We can’t wait to see ya there. ✨

03/11/2023

We got our dahlias in too late this year, really late this year, really really late this year, but it was all worth it for a few armloads. The first frost snuck in this morning, and while some stems and a sea of eucalyptus branches are still standing, this means the field is officially ready for rest until spring, and so are we. But for now, would you just look at these sweet ones? Always riding it out until the freeze. ✨

14/10/2023

Our first homecoming flowers! There’s some real sweetness in knowing that kids still do this these days. A lil ditty of lisianthus, celosia, scabiosa, feverfew, and pokew**d, plucked from the field before the rain. Hope to see y’all come prom season.

07/10/2023

If you’re in Easton this weekend, swing by Piazza to see our extra autumnal Fall Kickoff tablescape. Pictures don’t quite do it justice.

29/09/2023

For me, the first sign that summer is finally gone is the first flush of sea myrtle along the Eastern Shore. By now, the days are already shorter than the nights, and the weather has a sudden chill, and the leaves are falling, falling, falling in a steady march toward winter. Some folks call them high tide bush, and in our neck of the woods, they hold the shorelines together a little while longer, from boat wakes and phragmites and time. And in a few short weeks, those little white blooms will burst like clouds across the countryside, making my heart want to do the same. Onward, into fall.

28/09/2023

Welcome to autumn on the Chesapeake, and we wish you could smell this armful of marigolds.

24/09/2023

What’s growing in the field on this last day of summer: dahlias, lisianthus, cosmos, celosia, marigolds, and our main crop, w**ds. It’s been awhile so we pulled together another soundtrack to the shoulder season. It’s what we’re listening to while we watch the field inch toward slumber and drive with the windows down again and wrap ourselves in cotton sweaters and wait for the sea myrtle to bloom along the shoreline. https://spotify.link/Kl4IcDtFmDb

18/08/2023

No market for us this weekend but please go and stock up on all the just-ripe tomatoes and still-tender sweet corn and a pile of peaches so high that the juices start to run down your fingers. We’ve got a galette on the mind for the coming days.

11/08/2023

Out picking goldenrod this morning and found myself thinking about the hope that, in some small way, our flowers can be a sort of love letter to that elusive essence of the Eastern Shore. Its wildness, which feels at once everywhere and on the edge of disappearing and also so true in a world trying to tame and tidy the nature out of us. And its sense of time, or rather timelessness, and in that, its other lifetimes, which for me show up like some deeply personal, dream-like ode to just before or shortly after I was born here, when days felt long and life seemed so soft and possible. And maybe its contradictions — simple and abundant, raw and splendid, stubborn and ephemeral. It’s a place that’s hard to put into words, so we lean into the blooms. Sure, we want them to bring joy, and care to our land, but perhaps at their best, they could convey all that wonder. For you, and for us, too. What we can say clearly: Chesapeake country, forever and ever.

09/08/2023

August is often a beast to bear through on the Chesapeake, long and languid with thunderheads all around and cicadas incessantly abuzz and no sign in sight of a reprieve. And yet today feels like it’s been the shortest summer of my lifetime, and even as a through-and-through September baby, I’m feeling a pang of not wanting it to go so soon. We swore we’d plant the dahlias earlier, and w**d the beds better, and sunflowers, y’all, so many sunflowers. But then the hours slip into one another, and that perfectly impossible, impossibly perfect field will have to wait til another year. For now, the goldenrod is blooming, and the pokeberries are about to burst, and the cosmos are doing their lil cosmic dance in a way that will always remind me of West Texas. Our best eucalyptus harvest still looms and the marigolds are looking as lush as ever and, so far, we’ve staved off the morning glory from swallowing the whole darn field, which all feels like a bit of wisdom. It’s the longest day of the rest of the year. Go outside and turn your face to the sun for those few extra minutes today, too.

04/08/2023

Easton friends! Lisianthus bunches are available at Piazza while supplies last. A perfect pairing for a bottle of rosé, or better yet pound of mortadella.

Little Fields Floral