Someone asked me yesterday what I do all day. What's the life of a flower farmer, he asked?
When you're a flower farmer, you wake up before the sun even on Sundays.
Your right pointer finger has a permanent stain from stripping leaves during harvest.
You show friends your hoophouse the way one might show off their beautiful cabin.
You're giggly on a sunny day and loopy on a rainy day, but either way, you get it done.
When you're a flower farmer, the sky is your ceiling.
Friends are your volunteers.
Visitors are your playmates.