For grand gestures. For roses wrapped in cellophane. For moments meant to feel impressive and loud.
But this isn’t a story about any of that.
This is our love letter to lavender.
Dear Lavender,
You’ve changed the way we understand time.
In growing lavender, we've learned, nothing can be rushed. You teach patience from the very beginning—planting, tending, watching, waiting. Seasons pass. Roots settle. Growth happens quietly, often out of sight. And when the moment finally comes, you’re harvested by hand, your scent clinging to our clothes long after we leave the field.
That feeling stays with us.
You’ve taught us to slow down in a world that constantly asks us to hurry. To notice where we are instead of where we’re supposed to be next. You don’t respond to force or urgency. You don’t demand attention. You simply ask for care—and in return, you offer presence.
You’ve also taught us the beauty of simplicity.
The kind that eases your breath when the day feels heavy. The kind that softens a busy mind and reminds you that nothing is missing when you allow yourself to be fully here. In a world always pushing for more—more noise, more speed, more doing—you offer something quieter.
And often, that’s exactly what we need.
We carry that lesson with us, long after we leave the field.
It’s what we hope people feel when they walk the farm during bloom. It’s what we want to follow them home—whether through a bundle of lavender hanging by a door, a candle flickering on the counter, or a small ritual at the end of the day. Each piece we create is meant to share a moment from the field.
A pause.
A breath.
A gentle reminder that it’s okay to slow down.
We want our guests and customers to feel welcome. Unrushed. Held in the same calm that you give us. That’s the kind of love we associate with you—not loud or fleeting, but steady and grounding.
Lavender, you’ve shaped the way we farm, the way we create, and the way we move through the world. And it felt only right to write this as a love letter.
We hope, in your quiet way, you offer others the same invitation—to pause, to breathe, and to let something simple and steady hold space for a while.
With gratitude,
Always Cathy & Scott
