Reflecting on the "masterclass" that this season has been, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the boundaries I’ve set and the hard choices I’ve made to keep Clumsy Goose Farm sustainable. But beyond the logistics, the irrigation, and the daily hustle, there’s been a deeper, more internal shift happening.
I’m currently sitting firmly in the questioning phase of this journey. If I’m being honest, it feels a bit like standing in the middle of one of my garden beds during a summer storm—simultaneously overwhelming and clarifying. I know the mechanics of my work: I’m growing, I’m harvesting, I’m arranging. Yet, finding my true north in the crowded world of floral design has felt like trying to complete a puzzle with a few essential pieces missing.
For a long time, I thought the path was fixed: the traditional grind of high-volume markets, the race to provide uniform stems, and the relentless pressure to mirror the "standard" flower farmer model. But every time I packed up my gear, I felt a little less like me. The markets were transactional, fast, and often disconnected. They weren't where the magic was happening.
Where I’ve really found the joy is in the connection.
When I’m hosting a workshop or collaborating on a curated event, I’m not just a vendor. I’m a facilitator. I’m creating a space where, for a few hours, we’re all just human beings connecting over something living and blooming. Whether it’s a seed bar, a flower crown workshop, or sharing the dirt and the birds with my community, those are the moments where my heart really beats.
I’m finally beginning to realize that my "lack" of industrial perfection isn't a failure—it’s my competitive advantage.
My flowers aren't mass-produced, chemically-perfect stems; they are home-grown, organic, and beautifully, unapologetically human. My experiences aren't polished, corporate productions; they are fun, real, and messy. "Imperfectly perfect" might be the only way I know how to do this, and I am finally ready to own that as a business strategy.
I’m coming to terms with the fact that my path to sustainability won't come from trying to out-volume the big commercial growers. It will come from the intimacy of the experience. It will come from the workshops where I share my love for the soil, the geese, and the blooms. It will come from the events that feel authentic to who I am.
If you’ve ever felt like you didn't quite fit the mold of what you "should" be doing, I see you. I’m learning that you don't have to fit the mold when you can just build your own. I’m choosing to be the farmer who gets her hands dirty, who learns alongside her community, and who finds beauty in the imperfect, real-life mess of it all.
I’m still in the questioning phase, but for the first time, I’m not asking if I’m good enough. I’m asking how much deeper this connection can go.