For ten years before this, I worked nights — casinos, cocktails, the kind of hustle that doesn’t leave room for quiet mornings. Then I fell in love & moved back to the town I grew up in, Chillicothe, Missouri, I came back to the gravel roads, with my grass-stained boots, and an idea.
My family’s roots are in cattle, not flowers. My great-grandfather practically invented the sale barn agriculture runs deep here. Chad and I both have generations between us. The flowers came later, sparked by a love of dahlias I couldn’t shake.
We didn’t import this. We grew it — one seed, one stem, one season at a time.
Who’s here
It’s a small crew with a big build. I get the wild ideas. He grabs the tractor. And Jackson is part of every season with us.
And then there’s the rest of the cast: Moo Too, head of the bovine council, who is, as per usual, concerned. A growing flock of runner ducks. Mortoise the tortoise, who’s been with us since Covid. Bees. A French bulldog named Frank. An “incoming duck coven” that somehow became twelve.
This is a working farm before it’s anything else. The chaos is real. So is the gratitude.
Thanks for riding along.
