A Flower Farmer’s Journal: Early Summer Flowers and Textures.
Journal snippets from an anthophilous flower farmer, living a flower-inspired life in Napa, California.
Anthophilous: adjective, attracted by or living among flowers (merriam-webster)
June 9, 2023: It’s the last day of school for some. I have orders for teacher bouquet (our signature market wraps), so I select some Elegance watermelon sweet peas which have the most incredible stem length this year. Mental note: grow more Elegance series next year. I add in long white spears of Clary sage and the first few stems of Cherry Bronze snapdragons, Stellata Scabiosa pods and Bells of Ireland. The short Ammi stems will be perfect for the mini gift topper bundles. Early summer in a bundle. As I spiral the stems in my hand I think of my children’s own teachers. I infuse so much gratitude into each bouquet. This sentiment expands as I work and reflect. Every weekday I send my children to school worried for their safety, hopeful for their education and thankful for their safe return. I go bigger with my thanks. I finish the bouquets thanking every teacher out there. Thank you, thank you, thank you I say. For all you do for our children; there could never be enough bouquets to do your work justice.
June 10, 2023: Summer textures, everywhere. I pick a bucket of florist blooms and stop to reflect on all their textures converging in one spot. The lacey, the spikey, the fluffy, the smooth. Early summer colors of greens, whites, purples and yellows meld beautifully into a pollinator’s paradise. I take copious versions of the same picture. This is the flower farmer’s dark secret. Our phone is full of more pictures of flowers than of our own children.
June 11, 2023: Creative day. I walk the fields and follow intuition. No order, no requests. No one but me, my coffee and an empty basket. I decided on a milk and honey cake earlier this morning while everyone still slept. The gorgeously glowing Calendulas catch my eye as I head out. They are such under appreciated flowers due to their shorter vase life, but they literally glow. These are Bronze Beauty variety which I love for their creamy white petals and rose tinged undersides. I decide they need a moment to shine today. I also feel the pull for airy and light. Perhaps its the residual whip cream recipe reading, but I feel white as well. I pick extra long stems of airy Ammi. I gather up as many white cupcake cosmos as I can find. And then I decide it’s finally time. I pick the first few poppy rattles I’ve been letting mature the last month. The seed pods that have been growing slowly but surely since November. I’m absolutely thrilled at them and tuck them safely into the basket.
June 12, 2023: I eye the early summer beds; the ones I direct seeded in October, November, December with little optimism my direct seeding efforts would actually work. Thankfully California sent a lot of rain this winter. The pennycress is already pulled and drying. The bunny tail grass that replaced them are starting to seed out and almost ready to join them in the drying casita. The Bells of Ireland are perfectly peaking. Mental note I need to make a large vase of them for my husband, as they are his favorite. The Ammi has a few more weeks left but I’ll need to move fast. It’s the Larkspur I eye with restrained patience. Easily 6 foot tall, tons of buds, but no blooms yet. I remind them of their neighbor I spied on a recent walk, full of beautiful blooms bottom to top. I squint my eyes at them, willing them to hurry it along, while at the same time remember the lesson of patience the gardens love to teach. The bees dart in and out of the clary sage. A child calls my name from afar.
June 13, 2023: A last minute florist order that includes sweet peas and the most beautiful palate of peaches and whites. I hear it’s for a birthday arrangement and I think about the mystery recipient as I harvest. The sweet peas have started to push shorter stems, so I cut long lengths of vines with the flowering stems, knowing the florists will like the tendrils, arches and curves. I gather bundles of Apricotta Cosmos, the current designer darling of Comos this year. The white Mignonette beckons from the back row, asking to be picked. I text a photo of them to the florist and get approval. Two bundles get added and they pull it all together. It’s all almost too pretty to comprehend. Happy Birthday mystery person.
June 14, 2023: Last day of school for my own. We hustle, take photos, get to school on time. I silently say my daily wish for their safe return. I thank the teachers I see in the parking lot and mentally wish I had brought bouquets for all of them. But no time today; I have a plane to catch soon. I mist the last summer seed trays of Celosia, Zinnias and Gomphrena, and give them a little pep talk . Soon, I promise. Soon. Max warily watches my bags by the door. I pet his soft head. Be good I say. Stay off the beds. I’ll be back Friday. And the countdown begins…
