Journal

“They remind me of my grandmother.” I’ve heard this, or variations of it, hundreds of times now, from anyone who finds out that I grow peonies. “They were her favorite flower.” I love hearing these stories so much, watching the face of the grandchild, the niece, the daughter, soften with memory. Peonies have never reminded me of either of my grandmothers. They both lived in South Carolina, where tradition holds they can’t be successfully grown. One of my grandmothers grew gerbera daisies, and those remind me of her. The other kept her yard impeccably landscaped, and spaces like that make...

May your vase never run dry--Flower Farmer's Blessing You love flowers. I know you do, because you hang out here with me. I also know peonies are your favorite, because whose favorite aren't they? But, the thing that breaks all our hearts, that wounds us all to the very soul, is the brevity of peony season. For a few sparkling, magical weeks in spring, we have the unutterable joy of peonies in our vases, and all is right with the world. But what about the rest of the year? When you've fallen for flowers, especially the bright, fresh vibrancy of...

Ah! These last few weeks before the peonies bloom! We're watching the peony shoots race for the sky, as we put down fertilizer, spray fungicide, make sure the field is clean, prep the cooler and bouquet tables. We're hoping the weather stays steady enough not to dip into a deep freeze. Would you like to walk around and see the field a little bit? Come with me:   -Erin    

In 2015, when I put my first flower seeds and peony roots in the ground, I agonized over what to call my fledgling business. A name means so much, it's what people associate with your business, it's how they remember you. And I wanted my name to be beautiful and thoughtful and evocative and maybe clever. Should it pay homage to my town or my state? Should it carry my own name? How to stand out? How to fit in? What a lot of freight for a few words to carry! I didn't know, then, what direction my flower business...

It’s between four and five in the afternoon. I’ve spent the morning studying and schooling my children, and the early afternoon chasing down and checking off household tasks. So now it’s between four and five in the afternoon. I change into my farm clothes: jeans, long sleeved T-shirt, duct-taped boots, straw hat, gloves. I climb into the seat of my tractor, put earbuds in my ears, crank the engine, and lift the front loader off the ground. I’m heading out to the far end of the front field to my mulch pile. It’s a big pile, given to me by...