The Gift of the Redo
- Debra Flaming
- Oct 10
- 2 min read
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.
At first, I tried a shortcut—loading the original HDR clips into my video maker and hoping the software would fix them. But the more I watched, the more I knew in my heart: it wasn’t good enough. These flowers deserve better. You deserve better. So, I started over.
This time, I approached the process with fresh eyes and a more careful hand. I reset my camera, adjusted my angles, and took my time with focus and framing. I waited for those magical moments of light between the rainclouds. And you know what? The new videos and photos are far better than the originals ever were. Sometimes a setback really does become a setup for something greater, the gift of the redo.
Of course, the timing couldn’t be tighter. We’re racing the weather, watching the blooms fade and seeds form, and Dion is gearing up to top the plants and begin digging the tubers on Monday. Every hour counts, and there’s a sense of urgency hanging in the air. But there’s also gratitude—because even though this redo was born out of frustration, it’s producing beauty and growth, both in the field and in me.
When you’re forced to start over, it can feel humbling and exhausting. Yet it’s also refining. It stretches your patience and shapes your character. The book of Galatians reminds us, “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9)
So today, I’m choosing to see this redo not as a setback, but as an invitation—to create with more intention, to capture the beauty that truly reflects what we grow here, and to trust that perseverance will always bear fruit in time.
Sincerely,
Debra Flaming
