The Dunning-Kruger Effect and How It Can Be Perfectly Applied To My Growing Journey

Recently there’s been some drama in my greenhouse. My autumn sown hardy annuals – the ones that I laboriously grew from seed collected in September – are all gone, bitten the (fungal) dust.

My greenhouse thermometer tells me that the glass house has seen highs of 30 degrees during the day and lows of minus two at night. I’ve had the frost cloths on tender plants and sometimes forgotten to take them off, possibly smothering and sweltering the plants underneath. I’ve had the vents of the greenhouse closed to keep the mice out (I accidentally left them open one night and mice crawled up the dahlia stakes resting against the benches, and they did away with a whole crop of Orlaya and Nigella overnight) so airflow was lacking. I’d basically created a perfectly fusty fungal festival and lost everything. At the point where a healthy lush plant connected to the soil, the stem was weak, whittled away and collapsed.

The disease is called ‘dampening off’ and although it’s common, I have not lost crops at this magnitude before. I admittedly nearly always lose my autumn sown snaps but not larkspur and scabious. Some googling suggests sprinkling cinnamon on top of the soil around the stem helps but the cost of doing this on a large scale… I might as well give up. Consulting the oracle that is my local Flowers from The Farm What’s App group, a group of highly experienced growers, the advice was to fill a deep dish with clean water and soak from below instead of using a can or sprayer from above. At the back of my mind, I know I know to do this, but I am lazy and have not implemented this practice. This is my wake-up call to stop taking shortcuts.

It's incredibly hard not to get dispirited when growing for a living. When it’s a hobby, it’s a bonus when things survive. You take the win with pride. When it’s your living, you see all the failures as a colossal waste of time, money and effort and it is easy to feel like an utter failure and forgot the wins. I am having to have serious words with myself on a near daily basis about what I have managed to achieve and what I can learn from my fuck ups.

My partner showed me an interesting diagram called The Dunning-Kruger Effect, which I think summarises my journey perfectly. At the start of my pipe dream, I knew nothing about growing or floristry. I threw some flowers together from my garden for my own wedding and thought – this is marvellous, what fun, I’m a natural!

I did a morning’s floristry course and then put together my sister’s wedding flowers. I was so incredibly passionate about my newfound hobby, using garden-grown climate friendly flowers for weddings, that I bought some books on growing and floristry and quit my career.  

I had some savings and a few books and buckets upon buckets of determination and confidence. I turned my back on ten years of experience in teaching, editing/writing and marketing, a pension and income security.

You can see this stage at the beginning of the chart. According to Wikipedia this stage is when people with limited competence overestimate their ability. An inaccurate assessment of one’s ability leads to one making bad decisions such as choosing a career one is unfit for. Ta-da! This is me.

I quickly found out I could grow nothing well from seed. And I mean nothing. I signed up for an online growing course and everything went immediately over my head. I had a small city garden. I was growing very spindly seedlings on windowsills. Everyone else on the course had a polytunnel, a greenhouse and land. That was the first realisation - that I had a lot to achieve but I was still peaking. I was still in the stage where over confidence was going to help me achieve my unrealistic goal.

My next move was to find a house with land. This was hard. I had family needs to consider. I picked the best house with the size of land I wanted – who cared if it was on a 45-degree hill, the second tallest in Norfolk, covered in brambles and bindweed. Anything was possible if I set my mind to it! I ditched my city girl white trainers in favour of wellies and got digging.

Soon after this, my confidence finally began to drop. Indeed, it plummeted. Hard. I could grow nothing on the slope. The land was entirely feral. Rural life was difficult and isolating. I was right at the bottom of the curve, committing all my savings, desperate to make it work and crying into piles of actual shit as I shovelled horse manure onto my garden.

Four years later and I have a studio, a polytunnel, a greenhouse and thirteen flat growing levels. I am still making lots of mistakes, but each mistake gives me valuable experience, helping me on my journey to become an expert. I am on the upward curve now - crops that previously baffled me, such as Ranunculi, I can predictably grow.

This year I am attempting more ‘expert’ level seed sowing with crops such as Lisianthus and some perennials that require tedious moving of pots inside and outside to mimic Spring conditions. I’d love it if I could keep my spring-sown Snaps alive to the planting out stage. In Autumn, I will still sow hardy annuals and I will leave the greenhouse vents open and water seedlings from below just to see what success I have. I’d like to return to this blog next February and assess if I’m any further along my journey to become an expert grower who doesn’t need to buy in wedding flowers from far superior growers.

May Musings - How to Plug the Floral Gap

We’ve had heavy rain and hot sun this past week in Norfolk, and everything is growing at a rate of knots. The hawthorn is blossoming, the lilacs are blooming, and the perennials are beefing up nicely. No wonder the Romans named this month after the Greek goddess Maia, representing growth and fertility.

Beetle ready to start the day

However, May can be a depressingly barren month in the garden. The May gap traditionally refers to the vegetable growing calendar - overwintered crops are finished but the summer harvest is a way off. The same is true of flowers – Spring tulips and anemones are nearly over and the hardy annuals (cornflowers, nigella, sweet peas, alliums…) are yet to bloom. But all is not lost…here’s a long list of what’s happening right now in my garden.

A big vase of early May garden.

Bulbs and corms

Ranunculus – divine focal flowers featuring whorls of delicate petals come in a range of delicious colours from cream to deep purple. Add these to a bunch of bluebells and forget-me-nots, and the whole look is elevated. They are decidedly tricky little blighters to grow. It’s taken me four years of grief to get a decent crop and the lessons learnt require their own blog post – watch this space.

Ranunculus bed on tier three. I stare at these flowers every day in wonder. I’m not kidding. Their growth is a sign that I’ve made it.

Camassias - wonderfully exotic spires of stars. They come in white, sky blue, deep blue/ purple and lilac. Mine are thriving in the heavy clay under trees. They are less keen on the sandy sunny spot near the greenhouse, so I’ll replant them where I know they love life – some are growing to 70 cm.

Striking Camassia and tulips on tier 7

Alliums – an underrated cutting garden flower as they look fantastic at every stage of life. They can be a bit chunky for bouquets and table arrangements but right now, the dainty Allium Cowanii is having a moment. She’s a perfect flower to work with as her stem is thin and bendy but strong enough to support her head.  An arrangement looks ethereal when she gets involved.

Admittedly this picture doesn’t do the flower justice. I’ll have to point it out in a bouquet. Excuse the utility area in the background.

Perennials

Viburnum Opulus ‘Roseum’ – commonly referred to as Snowball Tree due to its delicious white puffs. I bought five little plants three years ago and they are finally getting to a decent stem length. They’ve been very easy companions and have taken the strong winds, mild clay and full sun at the top of my hill in their stride.

Lime sorbet snowballs admiring the view. I may specialise in growing this shrub as it does not need me to do anything at all to make it happy.

Tellima Graniflora – commonly known as Fringed Cups, probably because they look like dainty little thimbles on sticks. Mine are flourishing next to a bank and my neighbour’s look great under a tree against a wall. Clearly they liketh shelter and shade.

Fringe cups gradually change from lime to red

Bleeding Heart – a bit of a dramatic name for a plant with gently arching stems of little hanging hearts but I’ve got the white version romping away in my shady bed and I think it’s a lot nicer (and less gruesome) than the pink.

Alba is a new plant in my garden so I haven’t actually tested it out as a cut flower - looks pretty though. She can stay regardless of use.

Geranium phaeum – also called Black Widow! A stunning dusky mare of a geranium on a long stem. I’d love more of this gentle diva in my garden as she looks wonderfully dramatic pirouetting over an arrangement. I’ve bought a few plants as plugs and will harvest the seed as they love a woodland bank and I have plenty of those. (Later edition – a rabbit or deer has eaten the flowers! I will reorder and plant inside the rabbit proof fencing. I naively thought geraniums where rabbit resistant). Zero photo evidence.

Aquilegias – dainty little fairy hats dancing on long tall stems. The RHS website says aquilegias are easy to grow. In my experience, nothing is easy to grow (except perhaps the Snowball Tree but I seemed to have unwittingly placed the right plant in the right place first time) and hilariously, the growing description says – ‘Thrives in rich, moist but free draining soil (not too wet or too dry).’ Who has this mythical soil? Please write to me and describe it as I find this description baffling and suspect it is taken from the fairy tale The Princess and the Pea. I’ve grown and raised many an aquilegia from seed to plug and when planted out, they disappear. Mice eat the leaves and I have plenty of mice. One type of aquilegia – a deep dark purple – has sprouted in two places in my garden and I can’t work out why. The pinks, whites and yellows have clearly been too fussy and delicious.

Aquilegias a few days away from flowering. Beetle working hard in the background as ever.

Annuals –

Cerinthe – get this bad boy sown in autumn and you’ll be rewarded in May with heavenly dark flowers on silvery foliage… there’s not much silvery/green about at this time of year so grow it in abundance!

Long lasting sturdy stems making this a very useful foliage.

Biennials – (which need to be sown now for next May).

Honesty – white or purple clusters of dainty blossom on tall stems. I don’t cut my honesty for the flowers as I prefer the pods, but I definitely would if I had spare. In fact, note to self – sow white honesty seeds (I grow the purple for pods) as the white blossom is more versatile and prettier than the purple.

This honesty is definitely on the turn from flower to pod and does not look its best! Trust me - the pods are divine, especially when peeled to reveal their pearlescent skins.

Iceland poppies – chuffed to have these gently nodding papery spectacles in my garden right now. I’ve grown them for a wedding in two weeks’ time so I’m hoping I’ll have more than just this one flower to show for the time and effort it’s taken for them to get going. Just read that they prefer sand, and I’ve planted them in clay loam, so that’s a tad annoying. Learning point for me. Will plant up this year’s batch further down my hill in the sand.

My one and only flower in a whole bed of yet to bloom poppies - nervous times!

Which brings me onto other biennials to sow…

Sweet Williams and Sweet Rocket are on the precipice of blooming – one more week and they’ll be off – well other people’s will be. I have about three plants in total. Last May / June was my busiest wedding season yet and the few biennials I did manage to sow died in their trays during the heatwave. Hopefully I’ll get the seedlings in the ground before the insanity of summer. As ever, may goddess Maia forever be in my favour.

For transparency this Sweet Rocket is in my neighbour’s garden. I should be so lucky.

Where The Frogs At?

Last Spring, I built a huge wildlife pond on tier four of my newly terraced hill. I’d seen a few frogs and toads hopping about on the hill and wanted to encourage them to breed. This Spring they sadly haven’t set up camp. I’ve shared my daily spawn watch on Instagram and through direct messages, realised that I’m definitely not the only frogless abode in Norfolk. The Guardian wrote two articles this Spring about the affect of last year’s drought on the British amphibian population and I’m left wondering how to rise to the challenge of growing flowers in our ever-changing climate.

In my first year of growing dahlias, I’d identified the need for organic pest control on tiers ten and eleven. The soil here is rich clay and there’s full sun for the best part of the day. I made paths between thickly mulched beds with woodchips laid on top of cardboard and planted the dahlias directly into the ground. Unwittingly I’d created a slug wildlife reserve – my fresh new dahlia shoots were gnawed down to sad little nubbins overnight and by day, the slugs curled up in the cool of the cardboard.

I did go out a once at night with a torch and a pair of scissors to try and address the imbalance, but it was like a scene from post-apocalyptic science fiction movie with mottled slugs as big as snakes writing up and down the paths and I was wearing sandals! FML. I decided to write it off as the year of the sacrificial dahlia and build a wildlife pond – a would-be haven for a healthy colony of slug-munching frogs. The soil on tier four is sandy and near big trees so plants can struggle – a pond would be a good use of this hard-to-grow space.

I’ve built wildlife ponds in my two previous gardens.  My first pond, when I was still working as a consultant in Liverpool Street, became a daily source of wonder / therapeutic stress relief. When working from home, I’d take a stroll to the pond just to stare at it and calm down. True story – one day I was gazing into the pond when I noticed perfect cubes of white bread floating on the surface. Later I saw a magpie perched on the fence watching the pond. It was fishing, waiting to see if our goldfish – Rayaan and Bayard – would take the bait. They did. Sad times.

I find building a pond to be a mega easy process – I highly recommend it. Very basically, dig a hole with some shelving sides so things can climb in and out, put some sand at the bottom of the hole to cushion the pond liner, which goes in next and then edge it with rocks/things you dig up from the garden. You do need pond plants. I found an amazing little place near me called Pond Folk Pondfolk Ltd - Pond & Wetland Plants – their website is amazingly knowledgeable and you’ll find more detailed advice on pond life than I’ve given here.

Pond building is so rewarding. I always feel like a garden goddess when creatures move into the space I’ve built (less so when they move out so maybe don’t put goldfish in it). To quote Wayne’s World – if you build it, they will come.  So, I’ve been a bit gutted that no frogs or newts or toads have arrived this year.

The Guardian articles reported a nationwide disastrous breeding year for frogs due to lack of rain and a change in weather patterns. In Norfolk, drought is a particular problem. In fact we are still officially in a drought as our rivers and boglands haven’t recovered over winter due to low rainfall. Last summer it was particularly dry, and the land was drained to feed crops - ditches were literally ditched. Frogs have lost their habitats at an exponential rate.

So, what to do? How to adapt? How to control slugs in an eco-friendly way? Firstly, if you have spawn in your pond, do not donate it to a spawn-less pond as this may spread diseases. It is illegal to move frogs / spawn from wild areas so don’t be tempted to do that either.

Do nurture the pond you have and make sure you top it up with saved rainwater if there’s a drought (I have some large plastic tubs out next to my pond to catch rain and I’m constantly topping it up). My new pond is still teeming with life – pond skaters dart about on the surface and there are loads of tiny black underwater snails. Little flowers have popped up on the surface and there are new and unusual flying insects about.  If you haven’t already built a pond, I urge you to do so. Gardens may be the answer to rescuing our dwindling amphibian population.   

With regards to slugs, it is likely their numbers have dwindled too. (I’m hoping this is the case as my dahlias are already in the ground. I have not laid paths of woodchip and cardboard in an attempt to discourage any resilient blighters from breeding).  However, in some places such as small city gardens, slugs seem to thrive whatever the weather so plant your dahlia tubers in pots maybe with copper tape around the edges and only plant into the ground when the plants are big and able to cope with being nibbled.

My Dried Passion Project in the News!

I was chuffed to bits when the Eastern Daily Press interviewed me about the dried flower side of my business… Stacia Brigg’s words are very interesting and I have waffled on for long enough previously Do have a read!

Dried Flowers for February

February is always a bit of a slow month - seed sowing hasn’t started yet and ideally the beds are already mulched and all is quiet on the field. This year the slow gap was full of dried flowers that I’d stored for the occasion! I created 10 bespoke dried bunches for Valentines that all sold and four specially commissioned wreaths. I also created a dried ceiling installation and corridor of dried flowers at The Boars pub in Wymondham, which took a room’s worth of product away.

I was on balance pleased that I’d planned to have dried to play with over the winter - on balance because the drying and storing was an incredible faff. Our garage was too damp over the crappy summer and mice moved in to eat the seed pods - horrific. So everything had to be stored in the house in boxes and I vowed never again. Having a dedicated space to dry and store my flowers is something of a priority this year as I’m not sure I can say goodbye to my divine dried stock.

I have small amounts left for wreaths and the odd special project so do get in touch if you are after something special.

The Spring Season Ahead

January - I am mainly planning my seed sowing schedule and checking on the anemone and ranunculus corms. It is not exactly dull as I welcome this down time after a busy year of weddings but I am looking forward to the months ahead…

Valentines! An opportunity to make dried bunches for loved ones - no artificially heated / grown flowers here. Last year I also made some beautiful fresh wreaths for front doors. I’m available to offer free delivery to my usual zones.

Mother’s Day! You can order fresh flower bouquets, dried bouquets, wreaths - whatever you fancy! All available for free delivery or collection. Orders will close in advance for bouquets.

Easter Flowers - a lovely opportunity to have fresh seasonal flowers in your home for the holiday. Free delivery to my delivery zone.

A Natural Christmas at Holkham

Six months ago Lady Leicester and Catherine Zoll of Holkham Estate asked to meet with me to discuss a sustainable Christmas display for part of their candlelight tours. Every year the estate spends a month decorating the corridors and rooms with Christmas props that they have collected over the years. They invite creators to manage spaces and mine was going to be The Old Kitchen.

The old kitchen with the frame in place

We first met here - a wonderful Victorian kitchen with black walls, copper pots and pans and incredibly high ceilings. It was a dream space and we bounced ideas of what to do with it back and forth like lightening. I showed an image from a dried composition I’d made earlier in the year that I thought would offset the copper - orange, yellow and lime green. It was an unusual choice for Christmas but I was thrilled when we agreed on it. In fact the whole process was seamless - we just clicked about the vision.

We also discussed our sustainability goals - no plastic, everything made locally and no imported or dyed dried flowers. I’d coordinated a sustainable Norfolk wedding shot previously and knew of a ceramist Eleanor Torbati and an eco fabric dyer The Way of Tea, who I suggested for the table scape. We agreed that if we could source the flowers from the walled gardens, this would be the most eco friendly option. So joy oh joy - we booked in a day for Lady Leicester, Catherine and myself to have a tour of the gardens with the head gardeners and see what we could cut. Usually I grow flowers for my own weddings - I know the hard graft that goes into getting beautiful produce and I often feel a bit sad to see it go. This was a dream scenario - I got to cut bucket loads of the most wonderful flowers and foliage without having to put in the hard work AND I got to hold onto them for drying and later using. Walking around the walled gardens (I went back once a month for three months) was an utter privilege. My flower field has only been going for two years and was a total blank canvas so having established shrubs to cut from - I felt like a child in a sweet shop.

Once everything was loaded up in the van, we took it back to the hall to be dried in the cellars, specifically the Old Bakery. It was very hot down there and almost completely dark - the absolute perfect conditions for drying. Seeing everything hung up was in itself a piece of art and the colours looked amazing against the black metal of the old ovens. I knew one thing - the colours were spot on… marigolds, hydrangeas, strawflowers, dahlias, alliums, drumstick scabious, lobster claws, alchemilla mollis, fennel, herbs - the list is endless. Nothing went mouldy - an absolute dream (it takes weeks for things to dry in my damp stone cottage).

The cellar with everything hanging up to dry.

In November, I returned for a week long stay at the Hall for a completely immersive experience. I live over an hour away and the drive times two, five days a week would’ve taken it out of me on top of working long hours so I was pretty chuffed to be allowed to stay on site. Also, between you and me, I was totally petrified about the scale of the project. I figured I would start at sunrise and work into the night like a true Christmas elf to get it finished. Added to the pressure was the fact the whole thing was being filmed. Creeping back to my room at night, through the marble hall and along the corridors, was an experience in itself and embarrassingly the camera crew filmed me doing this one night.

Nervous, happy face.

On day one, all of the dried materials were laid out on the floors. I took a slow and steady tour of what I had to play with, logging all the ingredients. I didn’t think we had enough. The timber frame, constructed by the estate’s porters, was a lot larger at the bottom than the design we had initially mapped out and I wanted to be sick.

The best thing to do was start. I wrapped the timber frame with chicken wire. This was going to hold the flowers in place. The frame was five feet above the table and I spent several hours with my shoes off, walking up and down the table, twisting and turning to get everything secured. It was quite surreal imagining all the pies that made been made where my feet were treading! Then I started filling the frame with the bulky bits - like alchemilla mollis and hydrangea - and then architectural, translucent seed pods that caught in the light streaming through the high windows.

The frame nearly filled.

I could tell that the team at Holkham were nervous too - at the end of day one, the flowery frame looked a bit rubbish - I had a plan to cover the mechanics first but this stage was pretty uninspiring. One of the porters who had built the frame looked at it and said, ‘I just cant see it. I just can’t see it.’

I wanted to die, on the spot. I was a fraud. It was a disaster. What was I thinking? But I kept calm outwardly and said, ‘keep coming back and let me know when you do see it.’

One thing was certain - the design needed adapting - there was not enough of the small stuff to completely cover the legs of the frame. Luckily, Catherine suggested I paint the legs black - what a stroke of genius that was. I think you’ll agree.

The frame painted black!

Day two was easier - the bulk was done and now I could get fancy. The people who walked through the room were starting to look less dubious and more uplifted. I worked into the night tying in dried herbs and marigolds to the base of the frame. The smell was incredible and I couldn’t help thinking again of the cooks who used these ingredients from the garden. What would they think about the woman on their table using their produce to decorate instead of cook with?

Day three and the frame was finished. Now it was time to clear the table and start working on the finer details. I had two volunteers - Jenny and Tish - from the Fakenham Flower Ladies who constructed collars for the hurricane lamps.

Hurricane lamps

I set to work climbing the shelves to make allium garlands wrapped in fairy lights. We couldn’t finish the table until the fabric runner arrived so I turned my attention to a dried Christmas tree. I had no real plan for this, just some ideas from a marquee wedding I’d done in the summer, and actually, I think the tree is my favourite piece.

Day four I was going to run out of stuff. Definitely. So I nipped around the estate in my van looking for things that had already dried in situ - good thing it was November. The walled gardens, now closed to etc public, were full of seed pods, hydrangea heads and I found a fallen down oak behind The Hall. This was a real moment for me. There was no one in the garden, not even gardeners, and I felt absolutely buzzing with creativity and my magpie eyes were on. Using what I grow for weddings, this is not unheard for me. I’m also running up the hill to sip something extra for a bouquet so although this sounds stressful I was in my element.

Day five and the fabric runner was in place and I could finish off all the little details like napkin ties. The relief was incredible. I could finally unclench my jaw and my whole body ached but my soul was soothed. The head gardener dropped by and was totally bowled over. It was a moment for him too to see his walled garden brought inside the hall. The porter also came to see me. He said - ‘I just want you to know this is incredible. Absolutely wonderful. Im astounded.’

I may have shed a happy tear on the way home.

Now the joy will come from seeing all the lights turned on, the candles lit and the table laid. Fingers crossed all my swears and frustrations will have been wiped from the TV show!

The final piece taken by Harriet Cooper for North Norfolk Living Magazine

Grieving in the Greenhouse

Over the summer I suffered from burnout. My husband worked in London full-time six days a week from June to September and I had the children, the dog, a flower field and ten weddings to manage. The final straw was when my young daughter and I caught viral tonsilitis. All I wanted to do was sleep but at night, she was sick. During the day she was cantankerous and clingy. I was desperate for help – absolutely desperate – and there was no one. 

I thought of all the times I’d been desperate for help in 38 years. Why did I still expect someone to come? Why did I still think that someone would mother me?

One Sunday, when my husband was home, I locked myself in the bathroom and stayed in the bath pretty much all day. I dragged myself out of my poorly pitiful hole and got on with my weddings and started the children back to school.

In September, a period of calm began. There were no weddings, no children and lots of seeds to sow so I spent my days in the greenhouse looking up at the sky and over the valley. 

I was overwhelmed when a giant sea of grief surged over the valley towards the greenhouse. I had no idea it was coming but instead of putting up the storm walls, I let it consume me. I had a safe space - my greenhouse – and let the storm swell around my feet. I finally allowed myself to grieve. 

Grieving in the Greenhouse

I pot on, I prick out, I sow seeds and I cry for my loss. 

And what a loss it is to have a never had a mother. I cry for the sombre baby, torn from her mother’s side. I cry for the lost child, confused by her childhood. I cry for the teenager, trying to find her own way. I cry for the young woman, who was still so lost. 

I go deeper and deeper into my loss – it is like a well – a bottomless pit of despair. There are no memories of her, no ropes of gratitude to hold onto – she simply was not there. She was not there all those times. She is still not here. And I still need her. I want her. I want her to hold me and say - ‘it is all ok.’ I want to feel what that feels like just once. 

I blink in the darkness at the bottom of the well. I gulp and I sow seeds. I sniff huge sniffs and I pot on. 

But she was there. In my earliest moments she was there. This is my rope. I hold onto it. I hold on even tighter, willing it to pull me out of the well.

She gave me life. We had six months together where she loved me. She held me. She wanted me. 

And in turn, I gave life to my babies. I got to hold them as you held me. I get to be the mother you couldn’t.

And finally, I can see the light. 

Thank you, Mum, for giving me life. Thank you for my children. I will love them for both of us.

A smile breaks through the storm clouds. I have resurfaced stronger, grateful and a flame burns brightly in my heart. 

I look out across the hills beaming. I sow, prick out, pot on. 

September - The Start of the New Year in the Garden

For the majority of my life, I have lived by the academic calendar. In school, the new year starts in September and I am whole-heartedly embracing this month as a fresh start - a chance to reboot and set resolutions. The past two years have been a rollercoaster of Covid chaos, business start-ups and fall downs, house move, field growing… After a mental return to the wedding circuit, I spent the second half of August burnt out. September became the perfect time to reflect on the past year and set resolutions.

My first resolution - sow more annuals in September rather than March. Due to our move last year, I wasn’t able to take advantage of the ideal sowing conditions in September – warmth, light and predictability. September sowings are also stronger and come into flower earlier than March ones as they’ve had the winter to bulk up. I’m in my greenhouse pretty much every day sowing a few batches of seeds into pots. Hardy annuals can be sown directly in the ground but I’m trying to keep tabs on what is germinating as for the first time I’m using mainly my own seed…

My second resolution is to sow more of my own seed. Hardy annuals have now gone over and are producing seed. I’m collecting like mad when it’s ripe (the seed pod is easy to shake or pop open) and sowing my socks off yet it is a calming activity with lots of time to think. It is great to be sowing the seeds mentally as well as physically for the new season. These calm times are important and I’m making the most of my third resolution…

My third resolution is to relax. I find relaxing incredibly difficult. I always feel like I should be doing something. The flower field is a daily physical reminder of a never ending to do list – all I have to do is look out the window and the jobs are staring me in the face. But weddings are incredibly tiring and take a lot from me mentally and physically. In moments when it is quieter for the business, I have a tendency to put on a lot of events or commit to deliveries meaning I never really get a chance to have down time and think strategically. I’ve finally recognised I can’t physically work my arse off relentlessly and that I need to recharge to be effective.

To do this, relaxing has to be part of my daily routine - this sentence makes me sounds particularly cool and laid back. The one thing I am doing to relax is walking the dog on my own once a day. That’s it. Not a big achievement but it’s a simple enough signifier of my work / life balance being off if I can’t get out and walk the dog. I’m going to try and tag on a few core exercises at the end of the walk gradually building up to some semblance of a workout. I can already feel the lack of commitment to this second half of the resolution as I write it but let’s just see.

And my final resolution… see more people. I am a reluctant extrovert ie. I can network, perform model lessons and give talks, but I never ever want to. In recent years, working with flowers and on weddings, I’ve had fewer and fewer opportunities to be extroverted and I’ve gone too far the other way – I’m now a hermit - a reluctant introvert… I don’t seek out opportunities to be with people yet I’m miserable on my own. To rectify this I’m trying to see people every day like a neighbour or friend but at work, I’ve reached out to a local college for work experience placements and I’ve applied to the council to hold workshops on the field. I miss working with people as well as plants.

Becoming my own manager has been complex. I’ve found I need time to sit down and assess myself and my performance, where I am and where I want to go. September has proved to be the perfect time to do this. I have enjoyed it so much that next year’s diary is blocked out in September.

Artwork by Jess Illo

Why I Put My Prices Up

July was the summer of love. I did a wedding each weekend and watched Love Island each weekday night. Inevitably, I found myself thinking about the show while I worked. One phrase stuck in my head – ‘back yourself’ - which is what the Love Island men said as they strutted around like peacocks. ‘You got to back yourself’. ‘I back myself’. ‘You should back yourself, mate’. 

As I worked away in my garage on a wedding, the phrase ‘back yourself’ went round and round in my head.  I had an epiphany - ‘I don’t back myself. I haven’t backed myself since I started my new career in flowers. If those peacocks back themselves why don’t I?’

I know why. I’ve always had a crippling lack of self-confidence. I could attribute this to losing my mum at a young age. It was rare to for me to hear that I’d made someone proud. Praise and attention came when I’d done something exceptional. Through striving, I received what I was seeking. I wasn’t allowed to take Art past GCSE as ‘my potential’ lay in something more academic. Of course it’s possible that I’m naturally determined because my daughter sure is.

I have always strived, got great grades, been promoted and taken on responsibility. I got into teaching partly because the goals were set out in front of me and I could strive to achieve them. I was observed nearly weekly and anything less than ‘outstanding’ broke me. By the time I’d been in the profession eight years, I was a deputy head and outstanding in every area of my teaching and managerial practice – broken and disillusioned. 

I made a career change into a corporate environment initially as a writer but true to form, I couldn’t help myself and was promoted and promoted and had a team and did large talks and boosted sales and…started having panic attacks. I was prescribed diazepam and the doctor suggested that before each big talk I should take one. I decided that was not going to be me. I quit. I remember I sat my dad down and said – ‘I’m sorry I’m quitting. I’m 35 and I want to be happy.’ 

The move into flowers was a move to gain control of my own life – to turn my hobby, my love of flowers, into a rewarding job. I wanted a slower pace of life. I wanted to feel less pain, to punish myself less. But I hadn’t realised how hard it would be to change the habit of a lifetime.

In my second year, I’d booked over thirty weddings. ‘Thirty weddings’ I whispered to myself gleefully. My step mum had said – ‘But you’ll have to do 52 weddings a year to earn anywhere close to your potential.’

And I was striving, without realising it, towards that goal – to reach my ‘potential’. 

I’ve now realised it’s not about doing lots of weddings. It’s about doing the right weddings. Wedding work is highly creative and involved and yes, stressful so I want to do it for the right people. I do it because I love it. I love weddings. I love working closely with couples.

I’m quoting more than I used to because I back myself. I don’t want someone to choose me because I’m cheap. I’m filtering enquiries because I back myself. I am starting to see who understands me and I will never copy a picture or imitate another florist’s style. There’s now a box on my website enquiry form that says ‘tell me why you want to WildFolk to do your wedding flowers’. I’m getting fewer enquiries but that is what I want because the right ones to come through.

After five weeks of back to back epic weddings, I can finally say that I one hundred percent back myself. No one has given me a star, a grade, a pay rise – I have decided myself that my work is worth backing. I have reached my full peacocking potential.

Photo of meadow trough for aisle by Aurora Grey Photo