Wrapped in Hope: Holding Onto Spring (Even When It’s 37° and Raining)

Well, here we are. It’s April. The daffodils are blooming, the asparagus should be poking up like it’s ready to start something, and the weather? Oh, the weather. Let’s just say I’ve reached the point where I check the forecast more often than I check my email—and I teach middle school, so that’s saying something.

This week’s highlights included:

• 37° mornings

• sideways rain

• a frost warning that made me whisper “please don’t die” to the snapdragons

• and at least one moment where I considered starting a tropical flower farm in Florida

But despite the cold, the wind, and the questionable decision to wear my sneakers into the field (again), something magical is still happening: the flowers are growing.

Cold Snap, Who Dis?

Every year, someone says, “Ooooh, I wouldn’t have planted those yet,” while staring at my stock or snapdragons like they just spotted me putting orchids in a snowbank.

Here’s the thing: they’re cool flowers. Literally.

Snapdragons and stock want to be out now. They thrive in the chill. They can handle frost better than most of us can handle Mondays. Last year, I planted them even earlier, and they did beautifully.

So no, I’m not worried. I’m not even covering them (okay, maybe I walked by and thought about it and priced out frost cloth just in case, but mostly for emotional support).

Foxglove is hanging in there too, stoic as ever. I swear it gives off Victorian ghost energy and I love it for that.

Holding On Through the Cold

I get it—this time of year can feel like a whole lot of waiting. The kind of waiting where the sky is gray for days and you’re leaving muddy handprints on everything and nothing feels like it’s happening fast enough.

But if flower farming has taught me anything, it’s this: the good stuff grows slowly.

Hope doesn’t always look like a field of blooms. Sometimes it looks like a flat of seedlings in a drafty basement. Sometimes it looks like buds holding tight through a frost. Sometimes it’s me, standing in the mud in my third cup of coffee, believing it’s all still going to be beautiful.

Wrapped Bouquets Are Coming (And I Can’t Wait)

This year, I’m adding something new to the roadside stand—wrapped bouquets. They’ll be simple, seasonal bundles of whatever the field is giving that week: sweet-smelling stock, ruffly snapdragons, maybe a few sprigs of foxglove or feverfew if they’re feeling cooperative.

Tied with twine. Wrapped in kraft paper. Easy to grab, easier to love.

They’ll be there waiting—alongside a few hand-stamped greeting cards, maybe some cookies if I had a decent baking week, and always, always a little bit of hope.

So if you’re tired of gray skies, cold toes, and waiting for the world to bloom, hang in there.

Spring is coming.

The flowers are growing.

And soon, you’ll be able to take a little bundle of beauty home with you—wrapped in paper, tied with string, and full of promise.

Flowers on 29

956 Gravel Pike, Schwenksville, PA

We grow flowers. We grow hope. We grow through the cold, the chaos, and the late-April frosts.