Inspirations

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.

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.

Harvesting Dahlias Day Two. Donuts, Rain, and the Wonder of Friendship: This morning dawned brisk and bright—40 degrees with a promise of rain in the forecast. Our friends Steve and Cathy arrived bearing donuts (a farmer’s breakfast of champions) and cheerful spirits, ready for day two of dahlia digging. All four of us, now seasoned dahlia diggers, exchanged good-natured groans as we stretched our backs and geared up for another round.

Today was Gus’s moment of glory. He had finally found his inner cow dog. That sweet, nervous, thunder-hiding dog strutted into the yard like he’d just won “Best in Show: Eau de Cow.” His chest was puffed out, his tail held high, and every breeze that passed carried his new… shall we say, signature scent.

After days of frustration, countless retakes, and learning from my earlier filming mistake, something shifted today. I slowed down. I looked closer. And suddenly, I began to see again—the way water droplets cling to the edges of petals, how the late-season blooms lean a little heavier with wisdom, how even the fading ones still hold beauty.

Have you ever poured hours—or days—into a project, only to realize you have to start all over again? That was me this week. I discovered that every single video I had painstakingly filmed of our dahlias was shot in HDR, and while that may sound impressive, it turned out to be the wrong setting for my camera. The result? Washed-out color and poor quality when uploaded to our website.

Today, Dion and I are traveling five hours to watch our grandson Jett’s football game. We’ll also get to see his little brother, our pint-sized cowboy, Westy. I savor every minute with my grandsons — visits are rare since they live farther away, but distance makes the moments even sweeter.

Have you ever done a huge project only to discover a tiny mistake that managed to ruin everything? Oh, friend… I have. After spending...

It was one of those slow, golden afternoons that felt more like summer than fall. Ashley came over with the girls, and we set out to pick flowers—leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world. The plan was simple: gather some of the prettiest blooms for Ashley to photograph in handheld bouquets. Simple, of course, until you add two little girls, their flower-loving grandma, and a whole lot of petal temptation into the mix. Let’s just say, the girls and I were of absolutel

What a glorious time at church today! We arrived fifteen minutes before the service started, and once again the parking lot was filled to capacity. Our church has been so packed lately that if you don’t arrive at least 30 minutes early to one of the five services, you might not get a seat—or even a parking spot! The numbers keep growing, the excitement is building, and the atmosphere feels charged with something far beyond human enthusiasm.

One of the peahens has decided to become my dear friend. Right now, she’s perched on the deck railing, peering through the window as I write this post. Every few minutes, she gives a gentle tap-tap-tap with her beak, just to make sure I’m still paying attention. Humans must be quite the curiosity to these creatures.

Yesterday, our hearts grew a little fuller as we welcomed our fifth grandbaby into the world. Today we were able to drive to the hospital, hold her tiny frame, and congratulate our son and daughter-in-law. There’s something indescribable about cradling a newborn—like watching a miracle unfold right before your eyes. Baby and momma are both happy and healthy, and soon they’ll be heading home to begin this next beautiful chapter.

This morning I woke up to the gentle patter of rain against the windows. The cooler air and soft gray skies reminded me that autumn is truly here. There’s something about rainy mornings that slows everything down—encouraging us to breathe deeper, wrap our hands around a warm cup of coffee, and let the day unfold at a gentler pace.