let there be peas.

once a farmer told me to walk barefoot over the soil after planting peas.

another farmer told me peas love to be planted just before it snows.

today, as it was snowing, i incorporated both traditions. walking barefoot over peas as gentle snowflakes danced around.

perhaps silly. or crazy. but the ritual felt important. as i gently placed the first vegetable seeds in the earth. and wished them well.

yesterday, i planted seeds.



spiniach seeds in hand.

 some days, all there is to do is plant seeds.

there are no flowers to gather. there are no fruits to pick.

just tiny, mysterious seeds to place in soil, to offer a blessing.

there's something tangible yet intangible about it.

potential for more joy and goodness than we can see in something so small, so small, that rests in our hands.

so, yesterday i planted seeds.

i will hope. i will wait.

meanwhile, other seeds are already beginning to express themselves.

baby kale!

welcome to flower street.

my grandparents lived on fowler street. but as a child i always imagined they lived on flower street.

on the outside, there was a big garden of summer vegetables. fruit and nut trees. flowers all around.

on the inside, there was always plenty of love and nourishment for whoever walked in the door.



grandaddy and grandma at their house in 2010.



so much of what i believe and hope to practice about food and hospitality feels rooted on fowler street.

yet i am also on a farming journey of finding my own way.

so in attempt to honor the people and places i come from, while staying true to my own creative spirit, i call this new venture: flower street farm.

i will be growing vegetables and flowers on land leased from the good people at lazy turtle farm, outside of hillsborough, north carolina.

it is with gratitude and hope that i begin to touch the soil. that i sow the first seeds. that i wait for what will grow.