The Roots of Our Motto
I can still smell it - that intoxicating blend of dirt, spice, and water on hot earth. It's a scent that transports me back to my granddaddy’s vegetable garden, where I spent countless cool evenings as a child. The memory is so vivid, I'm convinced it must be what heaven smells like.
Those evenings were filled with simple joys: crunching into a freshly picked sweet pepper or smashing a ripe watermelon on the ground, savoring its warm flesh right off the mulch. My granddaddy's love for the land was palpable, and I cherished every moment spent in that garden with him.
As I grew older, I tried to recreate that magic in my own backyard. Year after year, I attempted to grow vegetables, channeling my granddaddy’s passion. But my efforts were met with disappointment. Drought, pests, and my own waning motivation led to half-dead plants and meager harvests. My scorched plot bore little resemblance to the lush garden of my childhood memories.
For years, I saw gardening solely as a means to an end - a way to produce food. I was so focused on the outcome that I lost sight of the joy that had drawn me to gardening in the first place. It wasn't until the spring my grandmother passed away that I began to see things differently.
As I reflected on her life, I realized there was another side to gardening that I had overlooked. My grandmother had a profound love for flowers. She could name every bloom she encountered, and her yard and porch were always adorned with a vibrant array of perennials and annuals. Her passion for flowers wasn't about production or purpose in the traditional sense - it simply about the joy that a beautiful bloom gave her.
This realization coincided with a shift in my own perspective on life. I had spent most of my adulthood driving towards goals, always focused on the next important task. Joy, fun, and beauty seemed like luxuries I couldn't afford. But as I thought about my grandmother's love of flowers, I began to understand that joy itself could be a purpose.
For the first time in my adult life, I decided to plant flowers instead of vegetables. I started small, with a patch of zinnias in the front bed of my suburban home. To my delight, they grew and bloomed all summer long. Soon, my kitchen was filled with colorful bouquets, and I found myself sharing this unexpected bounty with friends and neighbors.
That summer taught me what my grandmother had known all along - joy has its own inherent purpose. Flowers may not feed us in the literal sense, but they nourish our souls. They don't "produce" like vegetables or fruit trees, yet they yield something equally valuable: happiness, beauty, and a sense of wonder.
This revelation became the foundation of our philosophy at Brush Arbor Farm. We believe that while flowers do play a vital role in our ecosystem, joy reason enough for them to exist. It's why our motto is simply this:
Joy is the business of flowers.
My journey from my grandfather's vegetable patch, to my grandmother’s flower boxes, to my own flower garden has taught me that sometimes, the most important harvests are those we can't measure. They're the ones that bloom in our hearts, bringing color to our lives and smiles to our faces. And that, I've learned, is a crop worth tending.
