Spring is Starting to Show Up

A little glass art on our spring break - excited to put this up in my office!

Spring doesn’t come all at once out here.

It kind of sneaks in, doesn’t it? Longer evenings, a little warmth in the sun, the ground softening just enough to remind you what’s coming. And, well… because we’re in Wisconsin, winter always has one more say with a snowfall that hangs on a few days longer than you want it to.

Inside, things are growing.

We’ve got trays and trays of seedlings going, snapdragons, ranunculus, all the early season flowers. Still small, but getting stronger every day. It’s that stage where nothing looks like much yet, but somehow holds so much promise for what it will become.

Starting seeds will teach you a lot. You’re putting everything into something you can’t control. Tiny seeds, soil, water, light, and a whole lot of hope that they take. That they grow. That they become what you imagined months ago when you made the plan.

Some will. Some won’t. And you do it anyway.

Hope, in its smallest form, looks a lot like a seed tray.

It’s slow. It’s a little messy. And it asks you to trust what you can’t yet see.

I’ve been married to a crop and dairy farmer for years, but there’s something different about it when it’s your own hands doing the sowing. Your own quiet promises that something will bloom.

A lot of this season actually started months ago. Winter was full of planning, learning, figuring things out. What to grow, how to grow it better, how to make this whole thing feel even more like us. Now it’s shifting. From planning into doing. From imagining into watching it take shape.

Becoming is quiet work. Most of it happens when no one is looking.

And honestly, there’s still a lot we don’t know yet. Farming has a way of keeping you humble. But the excitement is there. You can feel it building.

A Reset by the Ocean

We just got back from a spring break trip to the beach, and I didn’t realize how much I needed it.

We slowed way down. Books in hand. No real schedule. Letting the day take us where it wanted to instead of rushing from one thing to the next.

We started noticing everything. The kind of beauty you miss when you’re moving too fast. Seashells scattered in the sand. Dolphins swimming and jumping around our boat. Sunrises and sunsets that made you stop what you were doing. That turquoise water with its steady, calming rhythm. The girls doing cartwheels along the shoreline like they had all the time in the world.

It felt simple in the best way.

There’s a different kind of living when you stop trying to get ahead of time. There’s something about the ocean that resets you. The rhythm of it. The reminder that not everything needs to be rushed or figured out all at once. It’s going to do what it’s going to do, and there’s something freeing about meeting it there.

I found myself thinking about the farm a lot while we were there. How similar it feels in a way. You do the work. You show up. But you don’t control the outcome. You’re working alongside Mother Nature, not ahead of her.

The farm will humble you in the same way the ocean does. Things happen when they’re ready. And maybe that’s the lesson I’m trying to carry into this season. To not rush what’s still becoming.

To allow. To surrender. To be where we are.

Bouquets Are Coming Soon - Flower Stand Details

We’re getting close. If all goes as planned, and as the weather allows, bouquets will start showing up in later May. Early in the season you’ll see tulips, ranunculus, snapdragons, those soft, layered blooms that feel like a deep breath after winter.

You’ll be able to find bouquets at our self serve stand most Friday and Saturday mornings:

1330 31st Ave, Monroe, WI — Right by Full Moon Brew Bar

It’s meant to be simple. Stop by, grab flowers for your table or someone you love, maybe pair it with a coffee and ease into the weekend a little slower. We’ll share more updates as we get closer, but there will be bouquets available at the stand in addition to subscription pick ups.

Right Now

Right now we’re in that in between space.

Not quite blooming. Not quite bare anymore either. Just… becoming.

Maybe you’re in a season like that too. Figuring things out. Growing something slowly. Waiting on what’s next. You’re not alone in it. We’re right there too.

Thanks for being here and supporting this little dream of ours. We can’t wait to share flowers with you soon.

May your days be slow, your hands full of flowers, and your heart light,

Erin, Finnley and Mila

Driftless Daughters Flower Co.