Twice a year, like clockwork, I get an invitation from my next-door neighbor, Joanne, for lunch.

Once in the spring, and once just before the holidays.

And these aren’t throw-something-together lunches.

Joanne puts real thought (and effort) into them: a table full of irresistible hors d’oeuvres, a proper sit-down lunch, and, because she’s civilized, dessert.

(As for my uncivilized self… I was eating so fast I forgot to take photos of the actual meal.)

But that’s not even the best part.

There are usually five other women at the table, most of them true locals. We’re all around the same age, but some of these women grew up here or have lived in Cape May for decades.

Which means the conversations are… absolute gold.

Stories about what the town used to be like, how it’s changed, who’s related to whom (very important), and just enough gossip to keep things lively.

I always leave having learned something new, and usually something delightfully behind-the-scenes.

What I appreciate most, though, is the welcome.

From the very first lunch, I felt included. No awkward “new person” energy. No polite distance. Just a seat at the table.

Steve and I have lived in a handful of New Jersey towns over the years : Montclair, Point Pleasant Beach, and now Cape May. Each one fit a chapter of our lives, especially during the years of raising kids.

But Cape May is different.

This is the first place that truly feels like home. The town, the people, the rhythm, it all just fits.

And honestly?

That sense of community is exactly why our little flower farm feels so rooted here.

It’s why growing flowers in Cape May feels meaningful.

It’s not just about plants. It’s about people. About connection. About being welcomed into something that’s already been growing for a very long time.

Farm Happenings at the Flower Farm

On the farm side of things, I’m happy to report that the seedlings I planted out in the field this fall didn’t just survive, they thrived, even through the bitter cold we seem to get every December here in Cape May.

Having made it through that, I’m feeling very confident they’ll handle whatever the rest of winter decides to throw at them.

Right now, I’m busy sowing my early spring succession flowers, those hopeful little trays of green that make winter feel slightly less endless and remind me why I love running a small flower farm in New Jersey, even in the coldest months.

Spring truly can’t come soon enough for me to finally show you the results of all this quiet, behind-the-scenes work.

(And yes, I’m already counting the days. Aren’t you?)