Thoughts From A Wiltshire Flower Farm
The Beautiful Chaos of Running a Flower Farm in the Wiltshire Countryside
Based primarily on Instagram/TikTok/Pinterest, people often imagine running a flower farm is all golden light, birdsong and wandering through fields carrying an armful of perfect blooms in a wicker basket while wearing a floral dress.
The reality is ... different!
It’s more like crouching down weeding in your pajamas, waking up for the dawn chorus (which starts around 4:30 am) to harvest, and endless bucket washing. Although sometimes I do wear a floral dress. Not because it’s glamorous, but because they feel like the closest to naked you can get without offending the half of the village that lives on the other side of the field. Other days involve chasing escaped pots/cardboard/my sunhat across the field in the wind, trying to convince slugs that they don't need to sample every single dahlia, and checking the weather forecast every fifteen minutes on three different apps, as if my sheer optimism and determination might stop tomorrow's drought. Turns out, the worst part of British weather isn’t the rain. It’s the heatwaves.
That’s not to say there isn’t magic - because there definitely is. It’s just maybe not as photogenic. Seeing seeds germinate. Smelling the first sweet peas of the season. Looking across the field in July, thinking to myself, “I made this.” The planning, the sowing, the tending - all to help bring the flowers to life. Many of which I don’t accidentally kill by not watering enough, watering too much, planting out too early, planting out too late, pulling them up because I think they’re a weed, or the classic “death by lawnmower.” Arranging those who make it into beautiful combinations, different every time based on what’s best to cut that day. That’s the magic. But me holding a wicker basket of flowers at golden hour is an infinitely prettier picture than me with a smug face staring into the field, so I get why the visual is so pervasive.
There’s also something rather magical about giving people flowers. No one is disappointed when they receive flowers! And the happiness they experience at receiving covers you in that light too. I experience it every time I hand an arrangement to someone, even if they’re going to give it to someone else. The best part … when they bury their face in the flowers to fully immerse themselves in the scent. I never worry that they’re inhaling a lungful of pesticides, fungicides or herbicides because I don’t use any of that here at the farm.
Our flowers will last longer than what you can pick up at the petrol station or supermarket too, for the most part. I pick each stem on the day it's needed, which means your flowers haven't spent days traveling around the country in refrigerated lorries, soaking up bleach and other chemicals to extend their life. They've grown quietly here in the Wiltshire countryside, surrounded by fresh air, bees and the occasional curious pheasant. Some have a short vase life (hello poppies!), but they’re so gorgeous, I use them occasionally, if only for the fleeting joy they add to an arrangement for that moment. And when their tissue paper petals have wilted, you simply pull them out, put them in the compost and enjoy the longer-lasting flowers that remain.
It's a privilege to know our flowers become part of a special moment in someone’s life. And that makes my muddy wellies, aching back/wrist/big toe, and the endless bindweed worth it. I wouldn’t swap this life for anything … except perhaps for some consistency in the British weather!
