10/31/2025
That’s a wrap on the 2025 growing season. Next up: 2026 calendars, a book, selling the farm, and thinking deeply about the shape of subsequent seasons. One thing is, Robin and I are going to experiment with overwintering the 75 tubers I planted in the ground!
Every season is different, and life shifts mean growth looks a little different year to year. Sometimes growth is exponential, sometimes life challenges hijack plans.
Flower farming is immensely creative and rewarding, though many farmers are depleted by the end of a season. Fallow seasons are inevitable and (I think) necessary.
If you’re a flower farmer, you’re always finessing your boundaries and your focus to work towards your own unique and sustainable business model. I’ve learned that vision, hard work, and cultivating community can take me far; and I’ve learned that teaching and photography are more sustainable for me in the long run. Trying to run a cut flower farm with no running water first at Portersfield Cider and then at my own farm for seven seasons has not been sustainable.
I truly love teaching, and think maybe my role is to teach, coach and mentor. What’s fun about flower farming is that it’s inherently creative—there’s no single way of doing things that’s “right” or “best.” We all need support and a sounding board from time to time, and I like to think I can help people find confidence and clarity as they figure out their own way of doing things that will be sustainable and meaningful.
I’m grateful to each of my customers, followers near and far, wedding clients, neighbors, friends, and fellow flower farmers. I’m especially grateful to Robin and Harry at for offering me a place to grow and experiment as I look forward.
When I teach my playwriting class at Bates, I tell my students that the end of your story should feel like the start of a new one. That’s exactly what this is. You’ve all helped me build this story, and now we’re starting another.