Mid-Summer Madness, Mildew & Magic: What July Really Looks Like on a Flower Farm

Okay here’s the thing: July is beautiful. July is cruel. July is when the flower fields are exploding in color and I’m trying to keep up with them on four hours of sleep, one functional brain cell, and a whoooole lotta electrolytes.

It’s the month where everything I’ve worked for starts to bloom - but so does the humidity, the bugs, the weeds, the mosquitos, and every mildew and fungus that thrives in the damp, 102º heat index.

July on a Flower Farm: Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?

It takes someone truly unhinged to commit to building a flower business in July when you already have a full-time job. I’m not talking metaphorical “this is a busy season” vibes. I’m talking actual full-time job, like: clock in, meetings, deadlines, clock out. The flower farm? That happens in the margins.

So here's how this works:

• Before sunrise—I’m outside in pajamas and rubber boots with pair of clippers in one hand and a 5 gallon bucket in the other. Very demure. Very mindful. I harvest what I can in the dark because for some reason flowers don't appreciate being cut when they're already hot and wilted. I have to follow their very demanding schedules. Then I pivot to emails, crop planning, blog writing (hi there), and website updates while the rest of the world is still dreaming.

• After work—I’m back in the field. But now it’s 100 and f*ck-that degrees outside and I'm troubleshooting irrigation, weeding, spraying for powdery mildew or black spot or botrytis while sweat carves rivers down my back.

• After dark—if I still have the energy, I’m outside again. With the mosquitos. Who, for the record, have developed a particular taste for my blood between last summer and now. They can all burn.

If this sounds mildly insane and deeply unsustainable… you are correct. But it’s also weirdly joyful. There’s something about this chaos that feels like magic. Like I’m fighting for something that matters.

The Mid-Summer Survival Kit

My farm “systems” are mere suggestions at this point.

There’s no crew. No tractor. No automation. Just me, clipping flowers with dirt under my nails, whispering to the cosmos to please bloom faster. My calendar is a little chaotic, my production plan is “updated” in scribbles at 5:30am, and honestly, my best ideas come while pulling weeds in 98% humidity.

I forget to eat lunch. I don't drink enough water (but I do drink a lot of caffeine). I constantly wonder if my headache is because I'm dehydrated, having caffeine withdrawals, my hat is too tight, I didn't sleep enough, or I need to do a brain dump of ideas and tasks. Maybe it's all of the above.

I have several ongoing notes open on my phone, including google sheets, Asana tasks, emails to myself, and talk-to-text phone reminders.

It's a mess. It’s not efficient. But it’s mine.

Beauty, in the Beastliness

Just when I’m about to wave the white flag, the field hits me with a bloom that stops me dead in my tracks. Like the first black scabiosa of the season - deep, moody, velvet drama in flower form. I nearly fell over when I saw it. Swoon doesn’t even cover it.

The zinnias are doing their usual mid-summer performance: loud, wild, and everywhere (literally - I have at least three growing in one of my paths). They’re the extroverts of the flower world - demanding attention and thriving in the heat.

And then there are the dahlias. Just starting. Teasing. I can see the first few blooms from my bathroom window and it’s like getting a wink from across the party. They’re coming. They know they’re the main character.

The pride that swells in my chest when I step back every morning after opening the farm stand tugs at my heart. I did it. I'm here. I'm in it. And whether or not I'm ready, I'm already on the train and it's already left the station.

What This Means for the Stand (and You)

This means that the stand is STUFFED. This means that - even though I'm elbow deep in farm tasks, I'm still cranking out ideas and there are some really exciting things coming in the next few weeks:

• Small-batch flower-based skincare will hit the stand as the weather starts to cool.

• Official Grey Dog Flowers merchandise (so you can proudly support your local flower stand in style)

• A collection of curated, gently used books in topics that I've specifically chosen for you.

  
  

If you’re local to Asheville or just passing through Western NC, this is your sign to make a pit stop.

The bouquets are wild, abundant, and excessive in the best way - overflowing with cosmos, rudbeckia, and whatever else said ‘Pick me!’ this morning. We’re at that fleeting point in the season where everything is blooming just enough to make you think I’m some kind of floral wizard. (I’m not. I’m just really good at hiding the chaos under an armload of zinnias.)

Fall CSA signups are in full swing. If you’re one of my members, you’re getting weekly updates in the CSA Members Only group and getting ready for your first pick up. If you’re not a member yet - don’t panic. There’s still time to grab a late summer share, or just swing by for a bouquet and a moment of flower-induced joy.

The Burnout Is Real, But So Is the Love

Let me be honest for a second. I'm teetering this month.

I teeter between love and overwhelm. Between awe and anxiety. Between “look at what I built” and “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

I cry. Usually in the car. I feel like a machine. Usually around dinner time, when I realize I haven’t eaten. I wonder, "can I keep this up?!" and even "what kind of a psycho willingly does this?."

But then a stranger buys a bouquet and says, “These remind me of my grandmother’s garden.” Or a kid picks out their favorite flower at the stand. Or I see the sun hit the petals just right - and suddenly, it all feels worth it again.

The truth is: I am hot, I am bothered, and I am deeply in love with this life. Even the hard parts. Especially the hard parts.

So If You’re Still Reading…

Thank you. You're the reason I do this. Come visit the stand. Pick out a bouquet that looks like a disco ball exploded in a field. Tell me your July survival tips. Bring iced coffee. (Please. I beg you.)

I’ll be the one in the shade, smelling vaguely of basil, covered in sweat with something stuck in my hair, doing her very best.

XOXO

Ilana

Flower farmer, blog writer, fence mender, marketing "expert," creative designer, and organizer of things