It Was Flowers All Along
I surprised myself when I decided to become a farmer-florist. I definitely surprised my husband, who still hasn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that his business suit-clad, reasonably well put together wife transforms on a regular basis into an overalls-wearing, mud-caked and sweat-drenched field hand. That I also leave my floral design studio (ahem, I mean, our kitchen) in a state of Edward Scissorhands post-creation floral cutting chaos leaves him shaking his head and wondering if I’ve lost my mind and am planning to serve flowers for dinner, seeing as they’re taking up all of the available counter space.
Like many who reach middle age (ugh – how I hate to admit to myself that the term applies to me!) and after devoting much of my life to a demanding career that draws mostly upon my left-brain, logical and cerebral self, I find myself gravitating more and more towards activities that challenge my under-developed creative side and let me focus more on doing, and being, in a place and a state of mind that brings me joy.
Happiness in a vase: the first flowers of spring