Summer may be ending in Cape May, but the flowers and farm work are not. Tiny seedlings, winter wreath plans, Valentine’s tulips, and a few rediscovered hobbies are all part of the season ahead.
A holiday week filled with family visits and an extraordinarily generous gift reminded us that a small flower farm grows through the support of an entire village.
We traveled through rural New Jersey to pick up six new Quick Fire Fab hydrangeas and were reminded of an important lesson: the smallest perennial isn’t always the most economical choice.
An ordinary phone call to our Cape May flower farm turned into a reunion I never saw coming. They were simply looking for flowers, but somehow the flowers led them back to me after nearly 30 years.
Growing a cut flower garden comes with successes, failures and plenty of lessons along the way. But one gardener’s story reminded me that sometimes the greatest reward isn’t what grows in the garden, but what we’re able to do with the flowers we grow.
One ordinary car ride made me realize something I wasn't quite prepared for: my children had quietly taken over the driver's seat. That simple moment led me to think about parenting, flower farming, and how every season of life eventually asks us to let go.
One conversation after another, I kept hearing the same simple phrase: "Flowers make me happy." A new mom returning to work after maternity leave. Someone treating herself after a stressful week. A hostess bringing beauty to a dinner party. Their stories reminded me that flowers aren't just for special occasions—they're little moments of joy we choose to bring into our everyday lives. As a flower farmer, those conversations changed the way I think about every bouquet that leaves our farm.
After weeks of chasing weeds, catching up from a brutal heat wave, and watching summer slip by, I realized I'd broken a promise I made to myself. Surprisingly, I wasn't disappointed. Instead, flower farming reminded me that not every season unfolds according to plan—and that's okay.
One customer recently told me they found our farm through a ChatGPT search for "wildflower arrangements in West Cape May." That conversation led me down an interesting rabbit hole about what people really mean when they ask for a wildflower bouquet—and why the answer isn't as straightforward as you might think.
Summer flowers have arrived, and with them came a question I hear every year: "Do you still have tulips?" The answer is simple, but the reason behind it says a lot about how we've come to expect everything, all the time.
