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little fields

FARM GROWN FLOWERS FROM MARYLAND'S EASTERN SHORE

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hot day cool down with the best boy. // #hoop #dogdays #recess #flowerfarm #easternshoremd

what kind of person puts faith into a fledgling flower farmer who has just started out, let alone never ever done a wedding before? the picture says it all. the kind who laugh and love and hold close like this. in light of the coronavirus, maeve and

last night. after harvest. the end of spring. the solstice eve. juneteenth. gathered around the old town fountain, listening to poetry and music and black voices telling their stories about this place and dreaming and being. in the distance, thunderh

if ever there was a flower that epitomized the soft warm abundance of early summer, larkspur would be it. finding ourselves especially grateful for this delicate tough new bloom, our first season growing it, for helping to fill in the slow spells and

JUNE. just days until the solstice, the trees full, the fields rising, the ditches fluttering with a feast of grasses and yarrow and the first few unfurling heads of queen anne’s lace. it’s the potent edge of summer, with a tangible elect

an ode to tomorrow from yesterday.

we’ve found ourselves thinking: people like to paint the eastern shore as this sort of pastoral paradise, including us, as in so many ways, we firmly believe it is. but there’s also no news in the fact that this peninsula has a long tangl

little fields was born out of a hope for something better, to bring joy, to heal our land, to share the simple pleasure of local flowers with our community. in that, it’s important to say, loud and clear, that we provide a place for everyone. y

stock! such a little name for such a flower. so feminine and unkempt and in that flawless. the color of gramie’s old silk slips and the eastern shore’s evening clouds at the edge of summer and a perfect cone of peach ice cream. if these a

don’t the tulips already feel like another lifetime? 〰️

MAY. this one, in my memory, will always be of red winged blackbirds, leaping off the telephone wires, dancing out over this old open farm field, calling out in a clattering joyous cacophony. beneath them the wind ripples the rye grass in great undul

back at the market this weekend with what might be the last of the ranunculus. even with one briefly crushing haircut from the local deer herd, these babies brought us so much life this spring and helped keep the flowers coming more steadily than las

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