Can you believe I get to farm here? I still remember the summer after Grade 10, when my family moved to the Okanagan. I'd grown up mostly in the Rockies, so I was unused to warm, long summers and I could not get over the desert beauty around me. This was a foreign and completely magnetic landscape to me. Every morning I wandered around this property, dazed and slightly overwhelmed as I harvested my breakfast, my bare feet soaked in dew.
This picture is what was once our golden plum orchard (and a stop on my breakfast tour). These trees had run their course and were ready to heat my parents' home instead of filling our bellies. But it's not without nostalgia that we say goodbye to faithful little trees like these ones. I actually considered calling the Flower Farm "Plumfield" in their honour (a fictional place in Jo's Boys, by Louisa May Alcott, I discovered) but was outvoted by my family. In my heart, and on my planting plans, this little meadow will be Plumfield. But I am so content to have our farm named Petit Pétale. We are petit. But all good and grand things start small. And if you've ever examined many of the most glorious, striking blooms, you'll discover they're actually an ensemble of many small petals, all coming together to create a thing of beauty. Like our little farm and all of the pieces and people that come together.
More on our love of French to come...
