We believe they're for being seen up close — held, brought to a kitchen table, given to someone who wasn't expecting them. Every variety we grow earns its bed by being unusual in some way: an antique color you don't find at the grocery store, a stem that lasts three weeks instead of three days, a fragrance you have to be near to notice.
Below is a season's worth of what we tend.
More than forty varieties for 2026. The dahlia is the late-summer flower for us — it asks for patience all year, then arrives in late July and keeps arriving through the first frost.
We grow dinnerplates the size of a hand, ball dahlias only a few inches wide, and the soft café-au-lait tones that have made dahlias the wedding flower of the last decade — and a favorite of gardeners willing to dig tubers up every fall.
Our full 2026 variety list is available upon request.
Lisianthus is the underrated peer of the rose. Same shape, longer stem, weeks of vase life rather than days. We grow them for high summer — the antique palette of Voyage Champagne and Celeb Beige Neo, the architectural cleanness of Mariachi Pure White, and Rosita Pink Picotee, which we love for the inked edge on every petal. They start fragile and slow indoors in winter and finish like they were always going to be the prettiest thing in the bouquet.
The midsummer workhorses, and a quiet rebellion against the colors that mass-grown flowers tend to come in. The Queeny zinnias are everything a zinnia is supposed to be — papery, layered, antique-toned — in shades you can't quite name (lime with a blush, lemon peach, lime with a red blush). The sunflowers are exclusively the ProCut series, bred to be pollenless, in colors you don't expect from a sunflower: cream, peach, chocolate. Sunflowers raised by painters.
The supporting cast that makes the lead flowers possible. Echinacea cones with their stiff bristled centers, feverfew in tiny scattered clusters, yarrow opening into broad pale umbels. Scabiosa for the way it moves in a vase. Strawflower and statice — the everlastings — for the way they hold their shape long after the rest of the bouquet has gone.
In autumn, the heirloom chrysanthemums arrive and surprise everyone: quill-petaled, spider-form, deep coppers and lacquered pinks. Nothing like the tight little fall mums at the front of the grocery store.
What ties an arrangement together — and what makes a kitchen worth walking into. The baby's breath we grow is the cloud-of-stars kind, not the flat little spray you get from a wholesaler. Basil bred for fragrance — when it's blooming, the whole row smells like a Mediterranean afternoon.