May 29th, 2026. Today marks a remarkable milestone in our family as my parents, Stanley and Elisabeth Ilin, celebrate their 66th wedding anniversary. Sixty-six years.

This past week was one of those weeks here at Flaming Acres Dahlias. Dion and I stepped into the week carrying equal parts excitement and uncertainty as we prepared to plant our dahlia tubers for the 2026 growing season. The biggest question hanging over us was simple: Would the modified potato planter actually work for planting dahlias?

There are days that feel full in all the right ways. Today was one of those days. On this Mother’s Day, my heart feels especially grateful.

Jodi Frederick set out to create something that could hold both beauty and meaning. Inspired by the Kaylee Jade dahlia—a flower named in Kaylee’s honor by Rosie Cooper-Vert—the quilt mirrors the bloom’s vibrant colors and layered elegance. Each block tells a story.

On April 10th at 2:50 PM Mountain Time, we carried the final packages of our dahlia tubers into our little post office—marking the official close of our very first full shipping season here at Flaming Acres Dahlias.

There are certain weeks that feel like a gentle turning of the page—and this week has been one of them. Here in Idaho, we’ve been soaking in the kind of weather that lifts your spirit the moment you step outside. Blue skies stretch wide overhead, the sun lingers just a little longer, and the air carries that unmistakable promise… spring is waking up.

A Week of Dahlias, Gratitude, and Birthday Blessings Today, March 14th, I celebrate 65 years young. Birthdays have a way of inviting reflection, and this one feels especially meaningful because it arrives at the end of an incredibly full and joyful week here at Flaming Acres Dahlias. Earlier this week, on March 9th, something very special began — the first shipments of our dahlia tubers started making their way across the country. Packages headed out to California and Florida

Early spring is an honest season. The garden beds reveal what winter has left behind — brittle stems, matted leaves, hidden debris. Before dahlias can flourish, we clear the ground. We prepare it. We make room. Peace works the same way.

When the earth begins to whisper “wake up.” There is a subtle shift that happens before spring ever officially arrives. It isn’t loud.It isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t ask permission. It simply begins. And if you’re paying attention — you see it.

February has been unusually quiet here on the blog. But quiet on the page does not mean quiet on the farm. Winter is never idle at Flaming Acres. It is the season of clearing, sorting, planning, hauling, and preparing — the unseen work that makes spring possible. Behind the scenes, there has been a steady rhythm of decluttering. Old materials moved out. Equipment reorganized. Decisions made about what stays and what no longer serves the future we are building.

This last Sunday we celebrated 91 years of my dad’s life—and there are not enough words to express the gratitude I feel. My dad has always been my hero. He was the best father—steady, attentive, and deeply present. All my life, he made me feel important, safe, and profoundly cared for. His love was never loud, but it was constant. He showed up. He noticed. He protected. And in doing so, he shaped who I am more than he will ever know.

This time of year, we hear a lot about resolutions. Goals. Ambitions. Bucket lists filled with things to conquer, fix, or finally accomplish. While there is nothing wrong with dreaming or planning, I’ve found that lasting, meaningful change rarely comes from pressure alone. From a Christian perspective, true growth begins somewhere deeper.

As 2025 comes to a close, we find ourselves reflecting on a season that was far more complex than any highlight reel could ever capture. From a distance, this year may look like success—beautiful blooms, a thriving online presence, and a growing community around Flaming Acres Dahlias. But as anyone who works the land knows, the true story of a season is always layered. Beauty and struggle grow side by side.

There are certain moments during the Christmas season that quietly settle into the heart and refuse to leave. This year, one of those moments came through a song—Mary, Did You Know?—and through the voice of my granddaughter.

Christmas Eve arrives quietly here at Flaming Acres. The fields are bare. The dahlias sleep beneath layers of winter care. The tools are laid down early tonight. There is a stillness that settles over the farm—one that feels almost sacred. It is in this quiet that we are reminded why this night matters so deeply. On Christmas Eve, we pause to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Not with grandeur or noise, but with reverence.

December 10th will always hold special meaning for us. This year, Dion and I quietly celebrated our 42nd wedding anniversary, and in many ways, it felt like a perfect reflection of the life we’ve built—simple, rich, full of laughter, conversation, and grace.

Tomorrow, Dion and I will celebrate our 42nd wedding anniversary—how is that even possible? As I look at our wedding photo from that snowy December afternoon in 1983, I can’t help but smile at the story God wrote long before we ever stood together at that altar. Today feels like the perfect day to reminisce about how it all began.

We just wrapped up our Thanksgiving/Christmas family weekend at Flaming Acres, and my heart feels wonderfully full. These gatherings always remind me what a precious gift it is to have a big, growing family—each one with their own stories, milestones, and personalities—and to bring them all under one roof for a few sweet days before the holiday season sweeps us along.

Today was Christmas decorating day here at the Flaming Acres farmhouse—a tradition that always seems to officially usher in the warmth and wonder of the season. As I moved from room to room, hanging boughs and placing wreaths just so, the house slowly transformed into a soft glow of lights and evergreen.

Sunday, November 30th, 2025 This morning, Flaming Acres woke up wrapped in white.Not a heavy snowstorm—just a quiet dusting, the kind that settles gently on fence rails, rests softly on the greenhouse roof, and whispers, “Ready or not… winter is here."