Between Seasons: May’s Quiet Beauty on the Flower Farm
There’s a moment each year when the field holds its breath. Spring hasn’t quite said goodbye, and summer hasn’t yet fully arrived. It’s a pause—a liminal space where one season slips softly into the next.
Early evening May views at the flower farm
Between Seasons: The Floral Twixmas of May
There’s a moment each year when the field holds its breath.
Spring hasn’t quite said goodbye, and summer hasn’t yet fully arrived. It’s a pause—a liminal space where one season slips softly into the next. Like the hush of Twixmas between Christmas and New Year, this time in May is quiet, tentative, and full of almosts. The bulbs have danced their dance, and now the next wave of flowers—summer’s bold and abundant chorus—is just beginning to clear its throat.
It’s what vegetable growers call the hungry gap. And for flower farmers, we feel it too.
The End of a Glorious Spring
The narcissi were spectacular this year—pure sunshine in a stem. Softly-scented, ruffled, papery, golden, or cream—each one a small marvel. They carried the season beautifully, from the first whisper of warmth in March through April. I’ve already begun planning more for 2026. You can never have too many.
The tulips had a tougher time. Spring arrived hot and early, and some flowered on short stems or not at all. But the ones that flourished? Exquisite. Painterly, elegant, full of character. These will return next year without question.
The ranunculus—so carefully selected, pre-sprouted, fed, and cosseted—were tested by the weather too. It was an unusually warm spring. And still, those that bloomed did so with quiet splendour: multi-petalled, romantic, fleeting.
What’s Blooming Now
Just as spring slips away, the field begins again. And what’s coming next is full of promise.
The first peonies have opened—Buckeye Belle, a deep red single, bold and unforgettable. These were planted in 2023, and though peonies take time to mature, here they are—beautiful already and destined to be even better.
Around them, the sweet rocket is in flower—pale pink, lavender, white and purple. It moves with the wind, airy and light. In my small walled garden, the foxgloves are beginning—Sutton’s Apricot, Alba, and soon the Dalmatian and Camelot series in soft shades of white, rose, peach and lavender.
The geums are abundant—vivid orange and deep red, little bursts of joy. Violas and pansies, sown last year, are blooming freely among the rose beds. The delicate white froth of orlaya is just beginning, and the stocks are starting to show their promise too—fragrant and nostalgic.
The alliums are in full flow—Purple Sensation leading the charge, with more to follow.
And then, waiting quietly in the wings—the roses. On the cusp of opening. The buds are swelling, the stems are reaching. It won’t be long now.
The Quiet Abundance of May
So this is May. The in-between. The almost. A moment of stillness before the rush. A season that doesn’t quite belong to spring or summer—but is no less beautiful for it.
The field might feel uncertain, but the beauty is here. In abundance, honesty, and small wonders. And soon—very soon—the full song of summer will begin.
Roots and Thorns: Winter’s Work at the Flower Farm
Winter may have the field in its quiet slumber, but my thoughts are already with the roses and their story is just beginning. It’s pruning season, and while the work feels large, it’s meditative, too. There’s beauty in the stillness, in the rhythm of secateurs snipping, in the promise of blooms yet to come.
It feels so meaningful to sit down and write this—the very first blog post from my flower field. While the field rests in its winter slumber, the first signs of spring are already stirring, with brave little bulbs beginning to poke through the soil. What was once a dream has gently taken root and grown into reality, and none of it would have been possible without you.
Over the past 18 months, your support and steady encouragement has kept me moving forward, even on the toughest days. Every thoughtful message, kind word, bucket and bouquet you’ve bought has helped breathe life into this field, and for that, I am endlessly grateful.
As the seasons shift, my thoughts turn to the roses. Winter is their time of rest and quiet renewal—a season for pruning, shaping, and preparing them for the beauty they’ll bring in the months ahead. There’s something undeniably romantic about roses, isn’t there? The soft spill of their petals, their heady fragrance, and the way they seem to embody timeless elegance and love.
My love for roses has only deepened since planting this field, knowing they’ll soon find their way into the hands of florists and onto the tables of weddings. Each variety was chosen with care, selected not just for its beauty but for its ability to hold its own in bouquets—whether gracing a bridal arrangement or adding that perfect finishing touch to a florist’s masterpiece. These roses are grown to tell stories of celebration and connection.
Bare root roses.
The Winter Work of Roses
The flower farm is draped in January’s gentle stillness. The muddy ground tells the story of winter’s hold—no leaves, no flowers, just the thorny silhouettes of 200 or so roses waiting for their annual care. It’s pruning season, and while the work feels large, it’s meditative, too. There’s beauty in the stillness, in the rhythm of secateurs snipping, in the promise of blooms yet to come.
Pruning is a task that invites a touch of courage. Each cut prepares the roses for the season ahead, encouraging strong, healthy growth. I begin by removing the dead, diseased, and damaged canes—the three Ds. Then comes the inward-facing branches, which are snipped to allow sunlight and air to move freely through the plant. Each cut is made just above an outward-facing bud, angling slightly so the rain will slide away. The field looks stark after pruning, but this is what roses need: a little discipline now so they can dazzle later.
Bare Root Beginnings
This is also the season of new beginnings. With bare root roses arriving, I’ve been planting out some new varieties that will add to the beauty on the field. Among them are The Pink Fairy and Ballerina, whimsical roses that feel like they’ve been plucked from a fairytale. Their small, soft pink blooms come in clusters, creating a delicate, airy effect perfect for romantic bridal bouquets.
Distant Drums, the kind of rose that’s unforgettable, with its soft colors and delicate presence. Its petals shift effortlessly from smoky mauve to warm amber, bringing to mind the glowing hues of a desert sunset.
And then there’s Koko Loco, a rose as unique as its name. Its soft latte-colored buds mature into a dusky lavender, blending warmth and coolness in a way that feels modern and effortlessly chic.
Alongside these, I’m adding some more of my favorites into the field: Sugar Moon, a luminous white rose with a wonderful citrus fragrance; Sweet Child of Mine, with it’s soft white ruffled petals; and Chandos Beauty, an elegant rose with creamy apricot tones.
A muddle of roses.
The Field in Waiting
As I prune and plant, I can’t help but think of the seasons ahead. The bare, thorny canes I tend now will soon burst with life, filling the farm with color and scent. Each rose will find its place in a bouquet or an arrangement, bringing joy to someone’s home, a celebration, or perhaps a quiet moment of reflection.
For now, though, it’s all about the work of winter—the pruning, the planting, the planning. It’s a time to imagine the beauty that will unfold in the months to come, and to feel grateful for the roses, with all their thorns and wonder.