The Dark Temptations of Winter: Staying the Slow Flowers Course

January in the floral world, when you’re committed to Slow Flowers: local, seasonal blooms and sustainable mechanics & processes—is a strange time. Because of our northwestern location here in Seattle, Washington, we manage to avoid nearly all natural disasters except, so far, the rare mild earthquake and of course the massive eruption of Mt. St Helens back in 1980. We don’t get exceptionally cold but we do get cold. We don’t get outrageously hot but we do get hot.  January this year has been predominantly in the low 40s. We’re currently going through a sunny streak, so there’s frost and a light scrim of ice in the low 30s mornings that melts quickly away into drips and streaks, and then evaporates slowly up into the cool, bright sky above. But many flowers—most flowers—do not grow even in this moderate corner of the country, under these relatively mild conditions.

For decades the floral industry has been a dirty one, wracking up massive demerits in the area of eco-consciousness and environmentally protective practices. Due to florists’ quest to provide the widest possible array of flowers to their clients, year-round—which in turn trained customers to expect as much--flowers have been grown far away in much warmer, milder climes, and then packed (usually in plastic) and flown thousands of miles, then trucked, to reach the doors of the florists. For years that ubiquitous green foam has been used to create apparent gravity-defying effects and provide water to prolong vase life. For thousands of events, the foam, flowers, foliage and even the plastic containers used, plastic water tubes and picks, ribbons, pins, wire, zip ties—the whole kit and kaboodle was torn down and simply thrown away. Into the trash, into the landfill. Out of sight, out of mind.

It’s always struck me as so strange that for people who are drawn so much to the beauty of nature that we spend our days engrossed in it, we have this long history of egregious harm to the earth. When I pivoted during the pandemic, training in floristry, starting a micro flower farm, and later starting Parsley & Rue, the Slow Flowers Society already existed. Debra Prinzing, fellow Washingtonian, founded and spearheaded the movement. I was thrilled that there was already a movement underway to rectify dirty floristry practices, educate the public about “grown, not flown,” and create a community of local flower farmers, florists and flower-lovers to help push forward this newer, much-improved way of looking at floristry and how it can be accomplished with as little damage to the earth as possible. I’ve never created a single design with toxin-filled, unbiodegradable green foam. I’ve never thrown away plant material. I’ve never felt the need to keep up with the floristry Joneses by providing whatever flower the client wants, when they want it. I know I’m lucky to not have had to change my ways. Shortcuts become shortcuts for a reason, after all, and ease is mighty hard to give up.  But I was able to start my floristry career with an understanding of how exactly these traditional floristry practices were hurting the earth (and florists’ health, too) right from the start. I’m so grateful

I’m also grateful that I transitioned into floristry after becoming a flower farmer. After completing the flower farming course from Floret, I created and ran a small (we’re talking less than 1/5 of an acre) suburban flower farm until we sold it to move back into Seattle for my son’s schooling. But those four years of flower farming gave me a deep and profound respect for those who grow flowers, and for the plants themselves, and the soil in which they grow. As with cooking, a floral design is only as good as its ingredients.  Flowers grown sustainably and especially regeneratively, in soil devoid of chemicals and rich with organic amendments, grow and bloom to be their full, glorious selves. Flowers that are allowed to twist and wind around, corkscrew and branch off into gentle curves instead of being forced into arrow-straight lines explode with unencumbered beauty. Flowers that are harvested and immediately made into designs, or brought to the local growers markets a short drive away are flowers that haven’t been handled, packaged, transported, moved through a wide variety of temperatures, and manipulated in order to be able to survive such treatment. In other words, they are like the eggs gathered just that morning from the chicken’s coop. Farm to table. Floristry done the slow way, is farm to table, too: in a vase, in just that right spot, greatly enhancing the space and bringing joy to the eye of the beholder. If the power of flowers is ever in doubt, try taking  the read of a room with and without them. Flowers have presence.

So why, then, do I say that January for Slow Flowers florists is a strange time? I say this because to walk through the local flower market right now is to see a fraction of what’s there during the warmer, more abundant, months. The displays switch, with much more foliage than flowers.  For a florist such as myself, specializing in flowers with particular meanings, the relative sparseness of the market can be heart-freezing at first sight. Where is the hyacinth and dahlia, the jasmine and zinnia? Where are the rows and rows of garden roses? Where are the flowers that mean I love you like sunshine, or I admire your incredible courage?

It’s easy at such a time of year, to panic. It’s during months such as this, especially with Valentine’s Day orders right around the corner, that our mettle as slow flowers society members is tested. One day last week I found part of my brain thinking, well, what if I just ordered these tulips from Minnesota…?  Then I had to shake myself out of it and remind myself: If the hens don’t have eggs in the coop, are you going to order eggs from Minnesota? No, of course not, Lady: you’re going to see what else you can find on the farm! I mean, really.  Get a grip.

The moment passed and the dark spectre of flown not grown floated away like the hazy dark reaper that it is.  In this case, I instead reached out to a local flower farmer I learned of from the recent Slow Flowers Summit. We talked. She said she’s experimenting with growing tulips early in hoop houses, just an hour outside of Seattle. She was crossing her fingers and hoping they would be ready by Valentine’s Day. Did I want to be added to her list of local florists? I did.

I know these spare days of winter will likely always bring up doubts and wavering convictions. But there’s no question that staying the course, walking the walk, is utterly worth it. Isn’t that the case with all of our Climate Change efforts? Today I made a design out of rose hips and rosemary from our gardens, hibiscus from our neighbor, and wax flower, alstroemeria, queen anne’s lace and a few barely-pink ranunculus from Seattle Wholesale Grower’s Market. I was seeing what else was available outside the chicken coop. But not off the farm.