Fruition Flowers

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Fruition Flowers Gardener. Forager. Designer. Born to a beekeeper and a florist’s bookkeeper, I was destined to be surrounded by blooms. fru·i·tion [froo-ish-uhn] noun.
1.

attainment of anything desired; accomplishment
2. enjoyment, as of something realized.
3. state of bearing fruit.

When the world feels too much, I tend to sow seeds, or pick flowers, or a million little things that occupy my hands and...
27/04/2026

When the world feels too much, I tend to sow seeds, or pick flowers, or a million little things that occupy my hands and mind but not make much difference in the world. A niece and a few nephews are solid distractions too. My seven year old nephew only recently figured out that farming is my job, he also learned last night at family dinner that he was breast fed by the same mother he refuses to share a fork with. I’m grateful to have a profession these kids can point to, something tangible and fragrant, even if it’s entirely ephemeral, flowers aren’t forgettable. I used to be ashamed for never having used my degree in journalism, but I didn’t have the teeth for it, not the way Kaitlan and Norah do, unabashedly standing up to the bully the way I tell these kids to. So, in the interest of writings golden rule of showing not telling, I’ll be bringing buckets of farm fresh, fancy daffodils to at 7:30 this morning. They are there for the folks who just came for food, but also for anyone who has never been, never needed to, to stop by and make a donation to the pantry and grab a bunch of blooms. Flowers feed some special part of us we didn’t know was hungry. Feast on these.

Now that exactly three people have inquired, the notion of offering CSA subscriptions has cast some type of spell over m...
06/04/2026

Now that exactly three people have inquired, the notion of offering CSA subscriptions has cast some type of spell over me, suspended in analysis paralysis. This is the first spring in more than a decade where I’ll be totally tulip-less, a result of that pesky mastectomy and tariffs too steep to guarantee a good ROI. Seldom the pragmatist, I think it was surgery that drove the decision to hold tight to the cash, but I don’t fully know my own brain anymore, or my new body for that matter. What I do know is that long stretch of snow which kept us from seeing soil this winter has me springing harder than ever, even without the promise of parrot tulips. Something else seems as certain as spring: my website will not be accessible after today unless I log some hours with support to suss out exactly who my ‘reseller’ is in Google workspace. Tomorrow will be ten years since my second website launched thanks to the painstaking work of , one of many sweet souls who have helped to support this tiny agricultural dream. So, in spite of not offering a spring share, the rest are there, for today anyway.

In the last light on the shortest day of the longest year of my life: winter roses. My dad and I had admired one fat bl...
22/12/2025

In the last light on the shortest day of the longest year of my life: winter roses. My dad and I had admired one fat bloom beside the lane, but a closer look revealed aphids and pocked petals. With my face so close to the soil, I was seeing things from enough of a change in perspective to notice this lone plant throwing flowers from the top of hellebore hill. I’ve been so sentimental all month, for the frightened version of myself that I was this time last year, during those dozen days between my biopsy and a Christmas Eve diagnosis. Even though cancer treatments scrambled my eggs, took my breasts and most of my hair, I left that last immunotherapy session and boarded a plane for an adventure I’ll never forget with a friend I couldn’t feel closer to. While I hate the changes my body has undergone, I love the way that grape sized tumor has changed everything outside my physical form. It’s been truly transcendent, heightening every experience, deepening friendships, cementing new ones, and reminding me how these low boughs of my family tree can still cradle me, a 40 year old baby. I’ve cried tears of joy with my nine year old niece from the top of the Eiffel Tower, taken my new t**s on a December swim in the Mediterranean with a friend who put her world on pause to celebrate with me, and squeezed more sweetness out of this year than I ever thought could possibly exist. It’s probably just a change in perspective, but my sister said something to me this time last year that rings true to me now: prioritize positivity. She didn’t say it would save my life, I know my chemo nurse did that, but the radical refusal to feel sad really did something for my spirit. It had me hoping the pigeons of Paris were spinning nests with the wads of hair I tossed off the balcony, cutting bouquets for my care team, just for the satisfaction of snipping those stems. It made me lean (and love) hard on my cousin who traveled to care for me after the dreaded double mastectomy. It’s forced me to be more vulnerable with the people I’ve always loved, like my mom, who has cried all types of tears with me. I don’t wish cancer on anyone, but gosh, it really was the great wen.

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NH

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+16039694162

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