Friends of the farm,

Greetings from the late-March urban flower farm! It has been a few months since I’ve written; I can’t believe we’re already on the cusp of April. Life has been very full as of late with all good things: marathon training, an abundant tulip harvest, and week after week of steady rain.

These seven words from author Sally Rooney in her book, Intermezzo, have been ringing true: “More life, more and more of life.” I feel the intense longing, vulnerability, overwhelm, brokenness, and alive-ness reverberating in those words. 

The first quarter of 2025 has not been great for many. In particular, I’m thinking of those affected by the L.A. fires, the undocumented, our civil servants, and non-profits doing good work in the world that are reliant on federal funding. 

Our farm, not for lack of trying, has never received any grant or government funding whatsoever. In lieu of the current political climate, this is something I’m suddenly very grateful for. Indeed, our meager farming salaries rival those of fast food workers’ (also very important, non-bullshit jobs!), but our close proximity to the earth, and plants, and soil, and its benevolent creatures, can’t be monetized. 

Last Saturday night, I was hashing out this very thing with Brian Flaigmore and Jen Bixler, two of my amazing team members and good friends, over dinner. As a small business owner and farmer, I often think my ongoing stubborn efforts to stay out of debt, not chase grant money, not overwork, maintain a close proximity to the garden, and keep our farm relatively small, have all been, well – very problematic. 

Or have they? 

For more than a decade, farming has had my heart and I’ve been unable to let it go. Yes, the garden has left its indelible mark. Yes, love compels us in this work. 

Surely there is no lucrative financial future in small-scale flower farming. And yet, I believe the work that we are doing in our community is good and important: creating green spaces, replacing lawns with gardens, building root systems for rainwater collection, and habitat for pollinators and wildlife. I also believe in the power of the flowers that we harvest from our gardens. 

Beneath the despair, the dire outlook on the world, and the climate anxiety lies our collective strength and resilience. Sometimes we just need a little piece of the natural world to access it, to feel strong and resilient once again. To get from Point A → Point B.

Insert: Flowers. 

In these dark days, I’m holding on to my belief in community and the sentient beings that hold us all, and also to the promise of resurrection, as sure as the arrival of spring.

One of the greatest stories of all time – The Lord of the Rings Trilogy – played in my ears during the countless hours that I spent running on local trails over the past several months. It was my first time reading/listening to these beautiful little books, and I’ve been so deeply moved by the unlikely company of friends; especially their sacrifice, courage, friendship, meekness, and goodness. (Also, J. R. R. Tolkien’s incredible prose – if only to write like Tolkien!)

On that note, I’ll end this letter here with some Tolkien, from The Fellowship of the Ring . . . 

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.” 

Thank you for following along on our farming journey, and being a friend of the farm.

Until next time,

Rachel 

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