Part IV: Building Our Tiny Homestead
Artist’s Reflection
Looking back, this little homestead isn't really about growing vegetables.
It's about growing a life that feels more connected to the things that matter most.
Every morning spent wandering through the garden reminds me that beauty isn't something we manufacture. It's something we nurture.
I'm incredibly grateful this property continues to inspire new ideas, new dreams, and new ways of seeing the world. My hope is that every couple who chooses Midnight Moss experiences a little of that same feeling in the flowers we create together.
Because every arrangement begins long before a single stem is placed into a vase.
Sometimes it begins with a quiet walk through the garden.
Slowing Down, Growing Together, and Learning From the Land
"Sometimes the smallest gardens grow the biggest changes."
Every morning begins the same way.
Before I answer emails. Before the studio comes to life. Before I think about weddings or flowers, I make a cup of coffee and walk toward the garden.
It's become a quiet ritual Nathan and I share. We wander through the raised beds to see what changed overnight. Sometimes it's the first tomato beginning to blush red. Sometimes it's a squash blossom stretching open to greet the morning sun. Other days, it's simply the sound of birds waking before the rest of the world or the satisfaction of seeing healthy leaves reaching just a little higher than they did the day before.
Those mornings have become my favorite part of the day.
A few years ago, I never imagined I would say that.
The Dream That Didn't Feel Possible
Growing our own food always felt like one of those dreams reserved for someone else.
Someone with endless land.
Endless time.
Endless knowledge.
Modern life has a funny way of convincing us that slowing down isn't realistic. We become so disconnected from where our food comes from that growing even a handful of vegetables can feel overwhelming.
At the same time, social media makes it look effortless.
Thirty-second videos skip over the months of planning, the failed seedlings, the research, and the mistakes. They celebrate the harvest without showing everything that came before it.
For years, Nathan and I quietly talked about building a small homestead, but it remained exactly that... a conversation.
Until one afternoon sitting in an airport.
Somewhere between delayed flights and daydreaming about the future, we finally asked ourselves a simple question.
"What if we actually did it?"
That single conversation changed everything.
Learning From the Land
Our property has always asked us to slow down.
That's one of the reasons we fell in love with it.
It's tucked into the woods above the lake, where nature quietly reminds you that you're only one small part of a much larger rhythm. Deer wander through the yard almost every evening. Tiny fawns curl up beneath the pachysandra while their mothers graze nearby. Chipmunks insist on relocating the allium bulbs I've carefully planted, apparently convinced they know better than I do.
I've learned not to argue with them.
Living here has taught me that nature isn't something to control.
It's something to observe.
To respect.
To work alongside.
That mindset became the foundation for everything that followed.
Building Something That Would Last
Once we committed to creating our little homestead, we quickly realized there was far more to learn than we ever expected.
Pinterest boards turned into gardening books.
Books became YouTube rabbit holes.
Those led us to studying soil biology, companion planting, sunlight patterns, and water movement across the property.
One of the hardest decisions was removing a tree that had stood here for more than a century.
We didn't want its story to end there.
Instead, we gave it a new purpose.
The trunk was cut into large logs and buried beneath our raised beds, where it will slowly return nutrients back into the soil over the coming years. Layers of cardboard followed, made from the endless floral shipment boxes arriving at the studio each week. Leaves, branches, grass clippings, reclaimed soil from leveling the enclosure, and finally generous layers of mushroom compost transformed an empty space into living ground.
Every layer told part of the story.
Nothing was wasted.
Everything became part of something new.
What began as tiny seedlings growing beneath lights in February finally had a place to call home.
Tomatoes.
Peppers.
Lettuce.
Arugula.
Broccoli.
Peas.
Herbs.
Strawberries.
Flowers woven throughout to invite pollinators and create balance.
What was once an empty corner of the property slowly became one of our favorite places to spend time.
More Than a Garden
The greatest surprise wasn't the food.
It was what the garden gave back to us.
It changed our mornings.
It changed our conversations.
It changed the pace of our lives.
Some evenings we find ourselves wandering through the beds simply because it's peaceful. Other mornings we'll spend ten minutes watching bees move from blossom to blossom without saying a word.
It's impossible to rush a garden.
You can't force a tomato to ripen.
You can't convince seeds to sprout before they're ready.
You simply show up.
You care for what you've planted.
And you trust the process.
There is something deeply comforting about that.
Cultivating More Than Flowers
The more time I spend in the garden, the more I realize it has quietly shaped the way I approach my work as a floral designer.
Flowers have always been about more than beautiful arrangements to me.
They're about paying attention.
Observing subtle changes.
Understanding seasons.
Trusting nature rather than forcing it.
Every arrangement begins with those same lessons.
It begins with curiosity.
It grows through patience.
And it comes to life through thoughtful care.
In many ways, the garden has become another teacher.
One that gently reminds me every single day that the most meaningful things in life can't be rushed.
They're cultivated.
Artist's Note
Looking back, this little homestead isn't really about growing vegetables.
It's about growing a life that feels more connected to the things that matter most.
Every morning spent wandering through the garden reminds me that beauty isn't something we manufacture. It's something we nurture.
I'm incredibly grateful this property continues to inspire new ideas, new dreams, and new ways of seeing the world. My hope is that every couple who chooses Midnight Moss experiences a little of that same feeling in the flowers we create together.
Because every arrangement begins long before a single stem is placed into a vase.
Sometimes...
It begins with a quiet walk through the garden.
Continue the Journey
The garden has taught me countless lessons about patience, creativity, and trusting the process. Next, I'll share another chapter in my journey as an artist and the experience of traveling to England to learn from one of the floral designers who has inspired me for years.
