If You Only Knew…

I can’t count the number of times either of us has been told, “You’re living my dream.” We smile and think to ourselves, If you only knew. What do I mean? Well, first I’ll say that anytime someone says they would love to come to the farm to see the flowers, I cringe a little. Not because I don’t want visitors. I love sharing the farm. It’s just that the reality isn’t exactly the dreamy field of flowers most people imagine.

It’s unfinished projects. It’s unkempt netting. It’s piles of wood chips that never seem to find time to spread themselves out. It’s plants that have been chewed to the stalk by deer who somehow managed to get through the netting. It’s weeds. WEEDS. I can only capitalize that word so much.

And then there are the flowers. The very purpose of a flower farm is to cut the flowers, so there should never be rows of blooms (unless its a u-pick farm, and we’re not there yet). The flowers are here to be harvested, turned into bouquets, and shared with someone who needs a little beauty in their day.

But every once in a while, I find that perfect bloom—the one that somehow escaped the deer, the bugs, the weather and whatever else has been determined to destroy it. I cut it at just the right moment, before the pollinators beat me to it, and for a few seconds, everything feels exactly as I imagined it would.

That is the dream. That one moment makes it all make sense.

I had that dream moment recently. There it was. A dahlia with circles of delicate petals unfurling to show the beauty it was designed to share with the world. I did it! I grew that! I actually grew that beautiful flower from a tiny little tuber buried in the dirt.

For a moment, I just admired it. I snapped a quick pic and then cut that beautiful bloom…

…and then immediately dropped it and stepped on it as I was looking for it.

Because apparently, even my dream moments need a little reality check. I stood there looking at the slightly flattened dahlia in my hand and had to laugh. Because that's farm life - or life in general.

We spend so much time imagining what the dream will look like when we finally get there. We picture the beautiful parts—the flowers, the views, the quiet mornings, the finished projects. We don't picture the weeds. Or the deer. Or the unfinished things. Or stepping on the very flower we've been waiting all season to grow.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe the dream isn't supposed to be perfect. Maybe the dream is finding beauty in the middle of all the things that aren't. And maybe, if you only knew what really goes on behind the scenes here, you'd still say, “You're living my dream.”

And I'd smile. Because now I know what I'd say back. Yes. I am. Even with the weeds.