Inspirations

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."

The day after Thanksgiving has long been known as a busy one—sales, travel, leftovers stacked in the fridge. But today felt wonderfully simple, beautifully grounded, and full of the sweetest kind of noise: the sounds of my granddaughters filling our home.

Today feels different from the bustling holidays of years past, yet no less special. This year we’re keeping things quiet—just Dion and I heading to my parents’ home to share a simple Thanksgiving meal. For decades, they were the ones hosting our entire extended family, filling the house with laughter, cousins, stories, and the smell of roasting turkey. Now it’s our turn to bring the warmth to them. And honestly… this slower, gentler holiday feels like a sacred gift.

This afternoon, my daughter Ashley—my flower-loving, artistic ray of sunshine—came over with a mission. She had one goal: to help me finally begin the shadow boxes I’ve been planning for my daughters, daughters-in-law, and granddaughters. She knows me well enough to sense when I'm procrastinating, and today she gently but firmly nudged me out of “analysis paralysis.”

Today was a day wrapped in twinkle lights, peppermint air, and the joy of local creativity. Dion, Ashley, little Olivia, and I bundled up and made our way to the Christmas Fair—a beloved hometown tradition that somehow manages to feel both familiar and magical every single year.

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.

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.

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.

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