Dahlia Drama: Love, Logistics, and Luring Customers from the Road

The First Dahlia dig : How Fifteen Tubers Became a Situation

I started planting this year’s dahlia tubers with what I never thought was a manageable plan because those words are not part of my life. I did know I had limited time to get some tubers in the ground before I was due online with my 8th grade class in Los Angeles. Just one box or bag of tubers at a time to begin with—nothing too outrageous. A few rows of rototilling later in the area that was home to a few failed, very late plantings of pumpkins last year would be more than enough space for this year’s dahlias, right?! As the sun dipped lower and 2 rows of tubers were already in, home to just 1 box & 3 small bags of dahlias, I had a familiar realization: I may have gone overboard. Again.

Late season pretty coral dahlia 2024

A Deep and Possibly Unhealthy Love for Dahlias

I love dahlias. I love the way they show up to the party when everyone else in the garden has packed up and gone home. They work my patience all summer and hold back the blooms until late in the season, pairing well with zinnia harvesting. I love that they bloom in impossible colors and look like they’re wearing ruffles on purpose. I love that they’re soft and bold at the same time, like a velvet punch in the face. And this year, I’ve apparently gone all-in.

Last Year’s Hidden Beauties, This Year’s Roadside Stars

Last season, I kept the dahlias tucked away in a private, out-of-sight area of the field. I could hide them if they flopped & I could hide myself from the world while I dug & watered & weeded. They were for me—my secret indulgence (and private possible failure). Sure, I cut a few and sold some here and there, but mostly they were hidden, growing in peace without much public attention. This year, things are different. This year, I’ve decided to plant them where the entire traffic flow going south on 29 can see them—right along the roadside. If these dahlias are going to bloom like showgirls, they may as well have an audience.

The Slight Panic Behind the Bloom Parade

Of course, this decision is not entirely artistic. There’s a practical, slightly panicked reason behind the roadside reveal. I’ve realized that I have expanded my dahlia operation. Dramatically. The tubers have multiplied. The space they need has ballooned. And while I still love them just as fiercely, I’m now faced with a very real possibility: I may have planted more than my current customer base can support. I know there are corners of social media that have an obsessive love with dahlias. I am not sure that this obsession has been passed along to the residents of Southeast Pennsylvania quite yet. I have work to do on the advertising front. Note to self: make signs for dahlias. Luckily I have a little time before they bloom.

Betting on Beauty: The Roadside Strategy

That’s the thing with dahlias. You get hooked. You start with a few and the next thing you know, you’re considering naming them, assigning them personalities, and making room in the barn for winter storage like you’re hosting floral Airbnb guests. They’re irresistible. But they’re also a lot of work—and a gamble, especially for small flower farmers who need their crops to pay their way.

So this year, I’m testing a new theory: if you plant it, they will come. By putting my most dramatic blooms in the most visible location, I’m hoping to turn casual road traffic into flower sales. Maybe someone driving by will see a wall of coral and crimson petals and decide they can’t go another mile without a bouquet. Maybe a dahlia-lover will slam on the brakes, yank their car onto the shoulder, and sprint into my field in search of Café au Lait (spoiler alert: none of those. They don’t last long after cuts). Or maybe people will just slow down, admire the blooms, and come back another day with a little more curiosity and a little less carpool chaos.

Either way, I’m rolling the dice in color.

It’s a Gamble—But a Gorgeous One

There’s a very specific joy in planting something beautiful where people can see it. It’s part business strategy, yes, but also part invitation. Flowers are good for the soul, even if you’re only catching them in your peripheral vision between errands. If these dahlias lure someone into buying a bouquet or simply make someone’s morning commute a bit more bearable, I’ll consider it a win. The reward is well received when someone comments that they love seeing our flowers. I even had a bike rider stop & ask about sunflowers yesterday. I’m a sucker for a gold star and appreciative of the notes from strangers that I am doing hard work and they see me! (granted, I may be hard to miss whilst wandering around open fields and running mowers, tractors and rototillers.)

Come for the Flowers, Stay for the Chaos

Still, I’ll be the first to admit this is a bit of a leap. I’m betting on beauty to attract business, which isn’t exactly a foolproof marketing strategy. But I’ve got hope—and honestly, I’ve got too many tubers to pretend I don’t need a few extra customers.

So as the season unfolds, I’ll be watching. Will the road bring people to the flowers? Will the flowers bring joy to the road? Will I ever stop planting things that require staking, labeling, and emotional commitment? Probably not. But that’s the life I chose. Or the life that chose me.

If you’re local and reading this, consider this your official invitation: drive by, wave at the dahlias, and stop in if you want to take one home. They’ve been waiting for this moment, and frankly, so have I.

One of my very first dahlias in 2024

Celosia: The Fiery Flower with a Fascinating Past and a Surprisingly Profitable Future

If you grew up around flowers in the 1980s—especially on a farm—you probably remember Celosia. You might not have known her name back then, but you definitely saw her. Bright, bold, and looking like she was headed to a glam rock concert, she had that kind of presence. Celosia was the showstopper in the garden. I adored it then and, as it turns out, I still do.

This week, I finally transplanted my first tray of Celosia seedlings. It’s been a long time coming. Last year, I couldn’t get even one seed to cooperate—nothing sprouted except my frustration. This year? Oh, they all germinated. Every last one. And now I have ten more trays waiting for attention and only one set of hands to give it. To add some extra suspense, none of the seedlings are labeled. So whatever shows up this summer will be a complete surprise. Plume? Cockscomb? Something new? I guess we’re all going to find out together.

Celosia is a flower that demands attention, but she’s also got a pretty rich backstory—steeped in symbolism, survival, and yes, some profit potential too. Let’s dig into what makes this old favorite such a fascinating, sometimes frustrating, always fabulous garden guest.

The History of Celosia: Drama Is in Her Roots

The name Celosia comes from the Greek kelos, meaning “burned,” which perfectly describes this flame-colored and fiery flower. But this plant’s drama goes deeper than appearances. After a short time spent researching because my curiosity tends to get the best of me and my attention span is less than extensive, I found that celosia holds its place in history in Africa, Asia, and South America—not just as a pretty pretty garden princess, but as a practical plant too. In many cultures, the leaves are eaten like spinach. It’s not just pretty—it’s edible, which makes it that rare crossover between beauty and utility. I don’t see myself making a salad any time soon, but I can’t deny that I will give those leaves a try when they’re grown & ready.

Back in the day, celosia symbolized immortality and boldness. And to be fair, she earns it. I've heard that when when you think you’ve cleared her out of the garden, she’ll often reseed herself and pop back up the next year like she never left. I have yet to experience the great re-seeding promised by other varieties of flowers. I don’t do the whole cleaning up of the plants in the Spring anyway and I still haven’t found reseeding to be a thing done by my flowers. but I am always ready for a nice surprise. (That may be a lie. I am not a huge fan of surprises.)

Why People Love It (And Why I Always Will)

Celosia blooms are something to be seen and, if you’re like me, to be touched too. (Don’t be weird.) I like soft things. Always have. (Like soft clothes. Hard clothes should be illegal.) And the velvety, plush texture of Celosia is about as satisfying as a flower gets. Add in colors that look like they were ripped out of a lava lamp—hot reds, deep oranges, shocking pinks—and you’ve got a plant that refuses to blend into the background. I’ve started transplanting them close to the Perkiomen Trail so they get the attention they deserve!

She’s also tough. Once established, Celosia can take the heat, thrive in soil that would make pickier plants sulk, and bloom for weeks without much fuss. She’s just out there, doing her thing—looking fabulous with zero apologies. I get some moderately severe anxiety from watering plants (it feels wasteful) so I love a drought tolerant variety. After last year’s complete lack of rain here in PA…this is also a nice perk.

Not Everyone’s a Fan, But That’s Fine

Of course, not every gardener is smitten. Some folks think she’s a bit much—too frilly, too loud, too showy. One person’s eye candy is another person’s garden diva. If she returns and reseeds like it sounds like she can…I may be excited now and have regret later. I’m kind of ok with it thought. Because I cause enough of my own drama, it’s nice to see something else stir up some trouble once and again.

She’s Not Just a Pretty Face

There are several types of Celosia, and each one has a different personality. Some are fluffy and feathery, others look like velvet coral, and some have a more understated, spiky elegance. But whatever the shape, they all share the same traits: resilience, boldness, and the ability to stop people in their tracks. I think I have started all of the varieties and the majority of colors. I did not keep track. We’ll just have to see which survive.

And yes—if you’re wondering—she still holds up as a cut flower and dries beautifully. Once you’ve grown her, it’s hard to settle for anything else. I’ve been thinking about the cockscomb variety of these since the mid 80’s. They’re so cool.

Can You Make Money with Celosia?

Actually, yes. My research tells me that Celosia is a favorite among florists because it holds up so well, both fresh and dried. It adds texture and drama to bouquets, which makes it easy to market if you’re growing flowers for profit. Which I totally am, but I have not been brave enough to approach florists yet to attempt to provide them stems for bouquets. I have overdone things this year and I will have to get over myself, have the boys cut stems and make myself be brave and risk a big, fat no in hopes of some extra money! And because it grows so easily from seed and historically produces prolifically, it has proven to be a good return on investment for small-scale growers.

Celosia can absolutely earn her keep. She’s flashy, she’s reliable, and she doesn’t require high-end soil or a degree in horticulture. I don’t think I have either, but boy am I stubborn! So this could be a good partnership.

So, Is It Worth Growing?

If you’re into color, texture, drama, and surprise (hello, unlabeled seedlings), Celosia is your plant. She might not be for the minimalist gardener who wants pale grasses and subtle whites, but if your heart beats faster for a flower that makes a statement, you’re in the right company. I think aesthetically pleasing instagrams & spaces are pretty, but I cannot pull them off.

I’ve got ten trays of mystery waiting to go in the ground, and despite the chaos, I couldn’t be more excited. Whether they survive, thrive, or put on a surprise show of colors I didn’t even know I ordered—Celosia will bring a little magic to the garden. And honestly, what more could I want?

The Healing Power of Flowers (and Also, My Ability to Leave something behind in the field each night)

Gardening as Therapy… and Also an Excuse to Ignore My Messy House

Stock planting Day 4/3

Some people do yoga to clear their minds. Others journal or go for a run. Me? I bury my hands in soil, tend to delicate seedlings with complete reckless abandon (toughen up, ya babies!), and accept that my house is in a state of mild disaster.

Truly, nothing soothes the soul like nurturing tiny green things—except for the part where I immediately lose track of them. Somewhere out there, a tray of larkspur has taken up residence in the middle of my farm field, and I can only assume they’re thriving in their newfound freedom. Meanwhile, my kitchen counters are covered in seed packets, half-drunk coffee/green drinks/preworkout, and the vague hope that I’ll eventually tidy up. (Spoiler: I won’t. I’ll start to. I won’t acheive that dream.)

Stock: Smells Like Peace, Tricks People Into Thinking I’m Organized

2024 Stock - first year growing - a unique look and smell. Smell like cloves!

Stock is one of my first spring transplants, and I love it because it smells like spicy cloves (despite looking super floral and fancy) and makes me feel like a real, functioning adult. That is, until I step inside my house and remember that my living room currently looks like a tornado of sheepdogs, muddy boots, and watering cans waiting to come or go.

Stock is low-maintenance, unlike my to-do list. It doesn’t ask for much, just a little cool weather and some decent soil. I, on the other hand, ask for things like “more time in the day” and “the ability to transplant seedlings without getting hyperfocused on picking all of the rocks out of the dirt.”

Snapdragons: More Reliable Than My Ability to Keep Track of My Stuff

Snapdragons are sturdy, beautiful, and transplant well—which is more than I can say for certain other flowers (cough larkspur cough). They’re one of the few plants that seem to thrive despite my tendency to misplace things, which is lucky for them.

Last week, I carefully organized my snapdragon trays in order of which had been outside getting used to the elements (hardening off) the longest. Then, I reorganized them, and now it is just a guessing game. They’ve all been out there at least a week. They will all, inevitably, get some level of sunburn when I plant them out. Some will not make it. But some will. So, we will focus on that.

Foxglove: Looks Like a Cottage Garden Dream, Distracts Me From My Ever-Growing Laundry Pile

Foxglove is absolutely gorgeous—tall, dreamy, and a little bit toxic, which makes it my floral soulmate.

It takes its time growing and I must have convinced myself that the advice I read on the internet to start it 8-10 weeks before last frost was sound and accurate because I planted a BUNCH of it in late February. Every time I look at my beautifully growing foxglove, I think, Wow, nature is amazing. And then I remember the actual truth that larkspur does not like to be transplanted and I am terrified to try and to kill them all. Oh well. Being careful with roots when transplanting has not been my previous specialty. Perhaps I will find a new talent. Some luck? I want those tall spiky flowers.

Sweet Peas: Beautiful, High-Maintenance, and Great at Distracting Me From My Filthy Kitchen

Sweet peas require trellising. You’d think I’d remember this before they become a tangled mess, but you’d be wrong. Every year, I get caught up in their beauty and let them sprawl wildly, much like the unopened mail on my kitchen table.

But they bloom despite my negligence, which is comforting. I must admit that I often have the best ideas and intentions. I get so scared of failing that sometimes (most times) I avoid making my ideas a reality. Last year I failed BIG TIME with my vision of a trellis. It blew over many times and was quite an eye sore, but we still had sweet peas!

This year, I used my son’s (and I believe my brother’s before that) old day bed frame to construct something prettier and sturdier (albeit shorter and maybe not quite right either) trellis for the sweet peas. They’re already climbing and I am super excited to get more transplanted in the ground in the next few weeks.

Will I be brave enough to try planting some directly by seed outside? Likely, no. I’ll think about it a lot.

Larkspur: The Plant That Taught Me a Harsh Lesson About Life (and Transplanting)

You know what hates being transplanted? Larkspur.
You know what I lovingly started indoors and now am dreading transplanting into the garden? Larkspur.

They are sure to punish me with a slow, passive-aggressive decline. The real lesson here? Some things are meant to grow where they belong, and forcing them into new places just because I had a "plan" doesn’t always work.

(Am I still talking about flowers? Unclear.)

Conclusion: I’ll Clean the House in June. (and other lies I tell myself)

Gardening is supposed to be about patience, resilience, and connection to the earth. And it is. It’s also about my ability to ignore household chores in favor of staring blankly at tiny plants.

Despite my best efforts at disorganization, misplaced seedlings, and a complete lack of indoor tidying, the flowers still bloom. And honestly, isn’t that all that really matters?

Oh, and if anyone sees my abandoned tray of larkspur, living its best life in the field this weekend…Carry on & mind your business. Perhaps divert your attention to the asparagus…it should be peeking out very very soon!