Good morning friends,

I’m typing this out in our bedroom, mug of black coffee at my side, hot pack resting on my left shoulder. It rained last night, still overcast and wet outside. The perfect cozy morning for letter writing. 

I hope these occasional emails feel a lot like receiving a letter from an old friend in your life. I appreciate you opening and reading them, and it’s nice to have a reason to do my own self-reflection.

You guys. Our 2025 Growing Season ends October 1st. Today is October 1st. Huge pause. Huge exhale.

Since I started flower farming, I’ve been concluding our season on October 1st to give our soil time to rest and replenish before we begin planting again for early spring. October is typically one of the hottest and driest months in San Diego, and limiting our production season to nine months is another way that we honor our land and limit our use of precious natural resources, like water. 

And this is all true, but confining our production to nine months is also about personal constraint. If I let it, the farm would take everything from me, leaving me a mere shell of a person. I don’t want this work to ever become another expression of a hyperproductive, capitalist culture; if it begins to exploit either myself or the land, then to me, it’s no longer worth doing.  

Also, I just want to be a good mother. 

We’ve had a great growing season and this past week I’ve been looking back over our year on Instagram and celebrating our most epic moments. Check it out if you haven’t yet! We grew, cut, sold, and distributed 43,940 perfect stems of flowers this year – a huge feat for a tiny urban flower farm.

Every growing season is unique. After nine years of farming I’ve learned this: though I may try to control a growing season, the season itself (not unlike my three very different children) has a personality, essence, and fate distinctly its own; it cannot be controlled. We had a lot of failures this season, and also a lot of successes. Those two realities coexist peacefully in the landscape of my mind.

The gardens sang a beautiful song this year. I’m honoring their music today with the new fine lines etched on my face, and a heart full of gratitude.

I’ve been listening to the song, “Change” by Big Thief on repeat lately, and I think it is the perfect soundtrack for transitioning into this off-season.

In the song, Adrianne Elizabeth Lenker (singer and songwriter) is grappling with loss, and consoles herself by remembering that life is change. The sky changes; leaves change; ultimately, death, is change. The best seasons and best life moments are just that because of their juxtaposition to ordinary seasons and ordinary moments; nothing lasts forever.

She writes and sings: “Would you stare forever at the sun / Never watch the moon rising? / Would you walk forever in the light / To never learn the secret of the quiet night?”

October, November, and December, my off-season months, are my personal “quiet night.” My moon rising. It’s when I practice, quite literally, letting go. Walking away. Remembering who I am outside of my identity as a farmer, photographer, content creator, and small business owner. 

Thank you for your support and purchases this year! Thank you for keeping us going for another year.

Love always,

Rachel

1. Listen to “Change,” by Big Thief.
2. I was recently on the Hands in the Soil Podcast with Hannah Keitel (Episode 47: High Efficiency Urban Flower Farming). Hope you can check it out!
3. Advanced Flower Farming Workshop at my home and farm! January 23 & 24.
4. Save the Date for our Fall Plant Sale: November 8 & 9. Curated Cutting Gardens are available now for purchase!
5. We have sweet pea seeds for sale! The time to plant ornamental sweet peas in warm climates (like ours) is now through December.
6. Support the production of these emails, and other farming related content, by buying us a coffee.

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