Rain Boots, Garlic, and Lavender Dreams
From the Gardener’s Journal
The Gardener’s Letter No. 07
Dearest friend of the Hollow,
Last Saturday, it rained.
And when I say it rained, I mean the sort of rain that makes you look out the window and wonder whether anyone in their right mind would venture into a flower field.
I had pretty much accepted that our u-pick would be a washout. What made it even worse was that we were on our third week of blooming sunflowers, and the previous weekend we were rained out too, so only the first week's sunflowers actually got picked.
And then a family showed up.
In rain gear.
And boots.
Ready to pick flowers.
I cannot tell you how much that meant to me.
We stood out there in the rain for the longest time, talking about the farm, what we have built so far, and all the things Jamie and I still dream of doing. They picked their flowers in the rain, and I got to spend time with people who genuinely wanted to be there, even when the weather was doing its very best to convince everyone to stay home.
I will remember this day long after this growing season ends.
They probably thought they were just coming to pick flowers. But they made a rather gloomy day awfully bright for the Gardener.
I suspect the Keeper arranged the rain simply to see who would come anyway.
The Season That Gave Us So Much
Our first flower season is winding down.
I don't know exactly when it will end, and that is making me a little nervous.
The overnight temperatures are starting to dip into the 40s and 50s, and every time I look at the forecast, I find myself wondering how much longer our flowers will hold on.
Two weeks?
Six weeks?
Your guess is probably as good as mine.
South Carolina has a funny way of keeping gardeners on their toes. One day you're thinking about pulling out a sweater, and the next you're wondering why you bothered putting away the sunscreen.
But no matter when the last flowers are picked, I already know how I feel about this first season.
Grateful. So incredibly grateful.
When we started building Hickman Hollow, I had all these ideas about what I wanted the farm to become. Beautiful flowers, gardens to wander through, animals for children to meet, and a place where people could slow down for a little while.
What I couldn't fully imagine was how much the people would become part of the story.
The conversations in the fields. The children meeting our animals. The familiar faces coming back again. The friends who bring other friends because they want to share this little place with someone they love.
And, of course, a family who showed up in the pouring rain simply because they wanted to pick flowers.
Somewhere along the way, I think we found what Hickman Hollow is meant to be.
Not just a place where we grow things.
A place where people belong.
A Garden for Every Season
Of course, while one season is winding down, the Gardener has already started making plans for another.
Jamie is preparing our new garden area for planting, and the very first crop going into that soil will be garlic.
About ten pounds of garlic heads are waiting to be separated into cloves.
Ten pounds.
If anyone happens to see me sitting somewhere surrounded by garlic skins, please know that I have made some questionable decisions and am now living with the consequences.
But this new garden is about more than garlic.
It is also going to become our early spring flower garden.
One of the biggest lessons I learned during our first growing season is that not every flower belongs in the same field.
I absolutely love our spring bulbs. Tulips, daffodils, and all those beautiful early flowers bring so much happiness after winter.
But they have one rather inconvenient habit.
They bloom for a few glorious weeks, and then they spend a good portion of the remaining season looking like something the Gardener forgot to clean up.
The problem is that those leaves are doing important work.
After the flowers fade, the foliage continues collecting sunlight and sending energy back into the bulbs for the following year's growth. Cutting it down too early can weaken future blooms.
So next year, we're giving those spring flowers a garden of their own.
Our summer flower field can be full of the flowers that carry us through the warmer months, while our spring garden will have room for tulips, daffodils, and other early blooms to finish their growing cycle without us needing to rush them out of the way.
And as spring gives way to summer, that garden can become a place for vegetables too.
At least, that is the plan.
The Keeper has not yet commented on it.
I am choosing to interpret his silence as approval.
Something to Take Home: Let Those Leaves Be
If you grow tulips, daffodils, or other spring flowering bulbs, here is one of the simplest things you can do to help them return beautifully.
Don't cut their leaves off as soon as the flowers fade.
I know. They aren't exactly pretty.
But those leaves are still feeding the bulbs underground.
Once the flowers are finished, remove the spent blooms if appropriate, but leave the foliage growing until it naturally yellows and begins dying back.
That gives the plant time to replenish the energy it will need for another season.
And if you don't love looking at fading bulb foliage, consider planting spring bulbs among later emerging plants or giving them a separate growing area where their leaves can finish naturally.
That's exactly what we're planning at Hickman Hollow.
Sometimes the prettiest thing you can do for next year's garden is allow this year's garden to look a little untidy.
The Keeper would probably tell me there is a lesson in that. I am sure there is.
Four Hundred Reasons to Dream in Purple
We are also beginning work on our lavender field this week. And I am so excited about this one.
We already grew one beautiful 50-foot row of lavender this year, and seeing how lovely those plants became has only made me more eager to grow more.
Our next planting will be much bigger. About 400 lavender plants. And the varieties?
Phenomenal.
Sensational.
Exceptional.
I mean, really. Don't you love those names?
With names like that, I feel as though the lavender has already made some rather bold promises.
The plants are expected to ship soon, and while we wait, we are getting the field ready.
We have been planning wide grassy paths between the rows because I don't want this to be just another growing space.
I want it to be somewhere people can wander.
Somewhere they might take family photographs, sit for a while, or simply enjoy being surrounded by flowers.
And one day, God willing, perhaps a couple will stand among those lavender rows and promise to spend their lives together.
A little wedding in the Hollow.
Can you imagine?
Of course, before any of that happens, there is soil to prepare, hundreds of plants to tuck into their new homes, and quite a lot of patience required.
Lavender does not particularly appreciate wet feet, especially here in our humid South Carolina climate, so good drainage is going to be essential.
We are taking our time preparing the beds because I would much rather do the work correctly now than spend the next few years wishing we had.
The Keeper, I suspect, is delighted by this rare display of restraint.
Someone Special Is Coming to the Hollow
And before I close this week's letter, there is something else I'm especially excited about.
My dad is coming to visit this weekend.
He hasn't been here since our U Picks began, and he's never even seen the flower field in full bloom. The last time he visited was when our daughter Saige graduated back at the start of June, and hardly anything was blooming except the zinnias.
That makes this visit feel particularly special.
There is so much I want to show him.
The flowers, of course. The sheep. The ducks. The gardens we've been building and all the little changes that have happened since he was last here.
But more than anything, I want him to see the people.
I want him to meet some of the wonderful friends who have found their way to Hickman Hollow this year.
Because while I can show him the flowers we've grown, I don't think photographs or stories could ever quite explain what this place has become to us.
He needs to experience it.
And if you happen to come out Saturday, I hope you'll say hello.
Although I should probably warn him that I also have about ten pounds of garlic waiting to be separated into cloves. And a father's work is apparently never done.
The Beautiful Part
I have been thinking about that family standing in the rain last Saturday.
About my dad coming to see the farm this weekend.
About the flowers that are slowly finishing their season and the garlic that will soon disappear beneath the soil.
About lavender plants that haven't even arrived yet, but already have an entire future growing in my imagination.
It is funny how much of farming is about things you cannot hold on to.
Flowers bloom and fade.
Seasons arrive and leave.
Children grow.
People come through the gate, spend a little time with us, and eventually head home.
But the memories remain.
The friendships grow.
And sometimes, if you're paying attention, you realize God has given you something far more beautiful than the thing you originally set out to grow.
I thought we were planting flowers.
And we were.
But I think we were also planting the beginnings of a community.
What a beautiful first season it has been.
And what a blessing that we aren't finished yet.
This Saturday at the Hollow
We're hoping for another beautiful Saturday of flower picking and meeting my dad (he will love that I made him part of this event).
Our usual u-pick hours are 9 AM to 2 PM, with $20 cups and $40 buckets, weather and flower availability permitting.
If you've been wanting to come one more time, I would love to see you while the flowers are still here.
And if you spot someone helping me separate ten pounds of garlic cloves, there's a good chance you've found my dad.
Until we meet again,
