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Today felt like the turning of a page. The wind moved across the farm in slow, steady breaths, tugging at the last of the golden leaves still clinging to the trees. All day long they drifted down—quiet, gentle, almost like a benediction over the fields that worked so hard this year. Every gust sent a fresh flurry spinning to the ground, and with each little shower of color, I could feel it: we’re crossing the line from fall into winter.

Today felt like a true closing chapter of the season here at Flaming Acres. Just after lunch, the rumble of engines echoed across the farm as the combine and semi-trucks rolled into the corn field. There’s something about that sound—steady, purposeful, almost triumphant—that stirs an emotion deep in the bones of anyone who loves the land.

In the midst of unimaginable grief, Kaylee’s family sought something beautiful, something living, something that could carry her light forward in this world. Kaylee’s mother, who has always held a special love for dahlias, reached out in hopes of finding a grower who might help honor her daughter in a meaningful and lasting way.

After weeks of long days and muddy boots, every dahlia tuber is finally cut, sorted, labeled, and safely tucked away for winter. The fields are quiet now, the tools are cleaned, and the last crates are stored—out of reach from frost and all the other unpredictable forces of nature we’ve battled since early October.

Today was a day for the record books—our hardworking crew cut through 47 crates of dahlia tubers in one single day! That’s a new Flaming Acres record and such a satisfying milestone in our harvest journey. Now, I have 35 bins of tubers waiting to be sorted and processed over the next few days as we tally up our inventory—determining which tubers will be shared with others and which will be planted again for next year’s crop.

We kicked off the morning with “dahlia flatbread” baked by one of our teenage helpers—a creative experiment that had us all laughing before the first tuber was even cut. Then, the boys decided to get artistic, sculpting funny little people out of discarded tubers. The result? A lumpy, knobby masterpiece that had us in stitches.

Monday, November 3rd — Today felt like turning a long-awaited page in our harvest story. At 10 a.m., our faithful crew arrived, bundled against the chill, ready to face what we hoped would be the last big push. The morning light was soft and golden as we dug into the final two rows of dahlias—each clump a mix of soil, roots, and promise for next year’s blooms.

After church, we stopped to visit my elderly parents and ran a few errands before heading home. As we pulled into the driveway, there he was—Cooper —standing tall and triumphant as if to announce, “You won’t believe what I’ve been up to!” We laughed and shook our heads. But the real surprise came when we stepped into the house. The back door stood wide open. On the kitchen floor was a soft mound of dust—evidence of Cooper’s long, cozy nap. Then we noticed the feathers.

Congratulations to Our October Giveaway Winner! We’re delighted to announce that our October Giveaway Winner is from Walla Walla, Washington! She’ll be receiving a collection of fall-colored dahlia tubers, a warm celebration of autumn’s fiery palette—each bloom a promise of next year’s beauty waiting quietly beneath the soil.

The fields at Flaming Acres are wearing their late-season glory—golden leaves, crisp air, and rows of freshly unearthed dahlia clumps that remind us just how much beauty was rooted here this summer. As October draws to a close, we can’t help but look back with gratitude for how far we’ve come in this harvest.

This evening, I feel a peace that’s been missing in recent weeks. Maybe it’s because the digging finally went right—or maybe it’s something deeper. Around here, plans often shift and tools break, but giving up isn’t an option. Each setback teaches us something new, if we’re willing to see it that way.

We’ve had a few unexpected “breaks” around Flaming Acres this week. First, our potato digger decided to take one of its own—a tooth broke clean off a gear, and the whole piece had to be refabricated at the machine shop. With only five rows left to harvest, we found ourselves suddenly… on pause.

I had spent hours reading conflicting recommendations online—some growers said to add water, others warned against it, and no one seemed to agree on how much was enough. Jim’s answer was both simple and precise: “Add only enough water so it doesn’t clump, just feels moist.” He reminded us that in our dry Idaho climate, a little moisture helps prevent shriveling, but too much can lead to rot. His final bit of advice—check the tubers two or three times through the winter...

Today was a full and productive day on the farm. We got started early with our teens washing, drying, and cutting dahlia tubers. After lunch, our faithful friends Steve and Cathy joined in, and together we pushed hard until 7:30 this evening with one goal in mind—to get everything that was harvested completely cut. I’m proud to announce that we met that goal!

Yesterday slipped away without a blog post — and for good reason. We worked the dahlia harvest from nine in the morning until well past sundown. By the time I came inside, I was chilled to the bone and bone-tired from a full day of processing tubers.

Monday Musings: What a difference a week makes! When we began harvesting dahlia tubers just days ago, the task ahead felt enormous—twelve long rows stretching out before us, each one full of clumps waiting to be unearthed, washed, divided, and stored. But now, as we start a brand new week, we can look back with gratitude and see just how far we’ve come.

The past three days have been a whirlwind of family, flowers, and laughter—an unforgettable stretch that reminded me what truly matters.

Today marked day four of the dahlia harvest, and what a shift it was! After days of hauling, digging, and lifting crate after crate of tubers, we traded our heavy boots for magnifying glasses and our shovels for scalpels. It felt like going from farmers to surgeons overnight. We finally began processing the tubers for long-term storage—washing, drying, and carefully dividing each clump in search of that all-important “eye.”

And then there are…the chickens. As I type this, Dion and our son Luke are out on a full-blown chicken hunt, trying to round up the renegades who’ve decided the entire farm is their nesting ground. Today alone I found eggs in the pump house, the barn, the greenhouse, and even on my potting table. Clearly, the hens have decided they prefer “free-range” in every sense of the word.