The Harvest I Didn’t Expect
This year didn't go the way I planned—but somewhere in the middle of it, I found a different way through. And I say that with a full heart, not a bitter one.
This year taught me things. Hard things. Quiet things. The kind of lessons that only show up when nature does what it wants, and your best decisions still don't lead where you hoped.
I've been sitting with a lot of it, turning it over in my mind, and I figured if I learned something worth keeping, it was worth sharing too. So this is me being honest about a season that didn't go as planned—and what I found growing in the middle of it anyway.
For those of you who don't know me, I work a full-time marketing job and also own a small cut flower farm. Right now, my farm covers about half an acre surrounding my farmhouse. While the farm isn't open to the public on a regular basis, I do open it for registered farm events and private appointments.
Over the years, I've made more mistakes as a flower farmer than I can count. I've overwatered seedlings. Underwatered seedlings. Planted too early and too late. Put flowers in too much sun and too much shade. Failed to keep my seed-starting area cool enough. The list goes on and on.
It happens. Even the most experienced gardeners and flower farmers make mistakes.
As I reflected on this past season, I found myself thinking about stories I've read from other flower farmers who have faced setbacks, whether from their own mistakes or from circumstances completely beyond their control. I also thought about farmers who grow crops, sod, nursery plants, or raise livestock—people whose livelihoods depend on things they can nurture but never fully control. When weather, disease, or other environmental challenges affect their farms, even losing a small portion of a crop or herd can be heartbreaking.
Over the past few years, I've spent a lot of time researching better ways to care for my growing dahlia beds. As my flower business has grown, I've wanted to expand my dahlia patch each season while also finding ways to build healthier, richer soil. I've followed experienced dahlia growers, read books and articles, and soaked up as much information as I could.
As I reflected on this past season, I found myself thinking about stories I've read from other flower farmers who have faced setbacks, whether from their own mistakes or from circumstances completely beyond their control. I also thought about farmers who grow crops, sod, nursery plants, or raise livestock—people whose livelihoods depend on things they can nurture but never fully control. When weather, disease, or other environmental challenges affect their farms, even losing a small portion of a crop or herd can be heartbreaking.
Over the past few years, I've spent a lot of time researching better ways to care for my growing dahlia beds. As my flower business has grown, I've wanted to expand my dahlia patch each season while also finding ways to build healthier, richer soil. I've followed experienced dahlia growers, read books and articles, and soaked up as much information as I could.
After researching how other flower farmers overwinter their dahlias, I decided to try a different method in the fall of 2025. Several larger flower farms had shared great success with this approach—not only with healthier soil but with stronger, more productive plants the following season.
It also promised to save me time in the spring so I could focus on planting new dahlia beds and other areas of the farm.
So, I thought, why not give it a try?
The method was simple:
After the first frost, cut all of the dahlia stalks and leave them on top of the soil.
Cover the bed with 6–9 inches of straw to help insulate the tubers during our Zone 7b winters while also improving soil health.
Cover the entire bed with a silage tarp to keep excess moisture out.
In the spring, remove the tarp and allow the straw to remain as mulch while continuing to feed the soil.
On a sunny day in late fall, I removed my flower supports and irrigation lines, cut the dahlia stalks, spread the straw, and covered everything with a silage tarp.
Then I waited with anticipation, already imagining that beautiful dahlia bed bursting back to life in the spring of 2026.
May finally arrived, and I couldn't wait to uncover the beds. I knew that by leaving the tubers in the ground all winter, they should bloom earlier than tubers planted out in May. It would extend my growing season and provide beautiful focal flowers for my customers.
I pulled back the silage tarp with so much anticipation. I expected to find healthy tubers tucked beneath the straw, ready to wake up for another growing season.
Instead, I found little holes and tunnels running throughout the bed.
As I gently pulled back the straw to inspect the tubers, my heart sank. Most of them were gone. Others had been eaten almost all the way through, with only a thin shell of the tuber left behind. Months of planning, researching, and hoping disappeared in a matter of moments.
I kept pulling back straw, hoping the next clump would be different. Maybe these would be okay. Maybe there would be enough left to salvage. But the farther I went, the more obvious it became. This wasn't just a little damage. The bed was lost.
Disappointed isn't a strong enough word.
Devastated is closer.
I remember just standing there, taking it all in. I felt like crying, but I also knew tears weren't going to bring those tubers back.
I gave myself a little time to be disappointed. I replayed every decision in my mind, wondering what I could have done differently. I questioned whether I should have tried a new method at all.
But after a little while, I realized I had two choices. I could stay stuck in the disappointment, or I could figure out what happened and decide what to do next.
I've never been very good at staying stuck.
My nature is to look at a situation, assess it, and immediately go into troubleshooting mode. That's exactly what I did.
First Step: Identify the Problem
After looking over everything, it became pretty clear what had happened.
I had a vole problem.
And by the looks of it, they must have invited all their relatives over for the winter! Honestly, who could blame them? I'd given them a warm, dry place to live with an all-you-can-eat buffet underneath. Around here we'd say they were living in "hog heaven."
Once I knew what I was dealing with, I got to work. I removed every bit of straw from the beds to take away the sheltered environment they love. Then I hoed through the soil, breaking up every tunnel I could find in hopes of encouraging them to move elsewhere.
Second Step: Pivot
My original plan was gone, so it was time to make a new one.
Thankfully, I had already pre-ordered dahlia tubers that were scheduled to arrive within a few weeks. Instead of replanting the damaged bed, I decided to plant those tubers in other areas of the farm. I also planned to increase my plantings of zinnias and cosmos to help make up for some of the flowers I knew I'd lost.
I wasn't giving up on the season. I was hopeful I'd still have plenty of beautiful dahlias blooming by late summer.
A couple of weeks after planting the new tubers, I decided to check on them. I expected to find little sprouts beginning to push through the soil.
Instead, my hope quickly disappeared.
As I gently dug into the ground, I found that those tubers had been eaten too. In many places, only small pieces remained where healthy tubers had been just days before. I checked another bed...then another...and found the same thing.
At that point I started wondering if voles had their own social media network where they could instantly post, "Free buffet over here!" and invite all their friends.
But underneath the joke was a hard reality.
This wasn't just a problem in one bed anymore. My vole issue was much bigger than I had realized, and a huge part of my flower season was disappearing right in front of me.
That's when the tears came.
Right now, dahlias make up about half of the focal flowers I use in bouquets, flower bars, and arrangements throughout the summer and fall. Learning how to grow them more efficiently while improving my soil is an important part of my business. Losing one bed was discouraging. Realizing the voles had found multiple beds made it clear this wasn't just a setback—it was going to affect my entire season.
Third Step: Move Forward
I wasn't ready to invest in another large order of dahlia tubers until I knew I had the vole problem under control. But I also wasn't ready to give up on dahlias altogether.
A friend of mine owns She Blooms Flower Farm and still had a selection of beautiful dahlia tubers available. I knew she grew quality tubers, so I decided to give it one more try. I ordered a small selection and planted them on the opposite side of the farm, hoping the voles wouldn't discover them.
So far, they're growing beautifully.
If everything continues to go well, I'll have 14 dahlia plants this season instead of the more than 200 I had planned for.
Fourteen isn't what I expected.
But fourteen is better than none.
The voles didn't stop with my dahlias. They've also damaged some of my sunflowers, and by the end of the season they may affect other crops as well. That's farming. There are always things we can prepare for and things we simply can't control.
Instead of focusing on everything I had lost, I focused on what I could still do.
I planted more zinnias. More cosmos. I added new greenery and continued building new flower beds that will serve the farm for years to come. Before sowing those seeds, I carefully worked through each bed, breaking up any new tunnels I found. Those flowers won't replace my dahlias, but they'll fill the fields with color later this summer and provide beautiful blooms for bouquets, arrangements, and our farm events.
Of course I've had moments where I've felt discouraged. I'd be lying if I said otherwise. But I've learned that disappointment doesn't have to have the final say.
Looking back, I don't regret trying something new.
Did it work the way I hoped? No.
Would I make the same decision again? Probably not.
But trying something new wasn't the mistake. It was part of the learning process.
This season reminded me that even when we do our research, make thoughtful decisions, and work as hard as we can, life doesn't always cooperate. Nature has a way of humbling us. Farming certainly does.
What matters is what we do next.
This year I gained something I wasn't expecting.
I gained confidence in myself. 🌻
Not because everything worked out, but because when it didn't, I found another way forward. I adjusted my plans, planted different flowers, solved problems one step at a time, and kept moving.
There will be a few weeks this season when my flower inventory is smaller than I had hoped. That's simply part of this year's story. But later this summer, there will be zinnias, cosmos, greenery, and fourteen determined dahlia plants blooming on the farm.
And honestly, I think I'll appreciate every single one of those blooms a little more.
Sometimes the harvest isn't the one we planned for.
Sometimes the real harvest is the resilience we grow along the way. 🌸