02/15/2026
As a small urban flower farmer who sells dahlia tubers, and a man on a journey, I’ve had a few observations to make—ones that may or may not resonate with you.
Yesterday, many of us saw both the glorious and the unfortunate sides of hype and concentrated demand. I’ve felt that sting many times before.
Galena of Micro Flower Farm is incredible at what she does. She works hard and invites people into the process in a genuine, engaging way. Because of that, tens of thousands of people are watching her every move. That visibility is earned. Her selling out was earned. The woman works incredibly hard. And I celebrate her success.
And if I’m being honest, as a seller, I felt the ugly pull of jealousy. This has been the slowest start to a tuber sale I’ve had in five years. After a year of major personal upheaval and the reestablishment of my farm in an entirely new place, it all took its toll. I pulled back from social media and marketing. And as we all know, out of sight often means out of mind.
So yesterday I paused my work and messaged another grower just to say how impressed I was by what Galena is doing. Later, while talking with a friend, I shared Galena’s IG page, and I saw her story—and her authentic amazement and gratitude moved me more than I expected.
As a buyer, I know the ritual: the weeks of research ahead, the game plan, sitting hunched over the laptop, counting down the minutes… then the seconds. Refresh. Click. Add to cart. Race to checkout. Heart pounding.
SOLD OUT!!! “How? I did everything right.”
Or sometimes you make it through checkout, have a little party, and get that dopamine rush of victory before the next sale begins.
As both a shopper and a small grower, I know this tension well. My own journey with dahlias began more than a decade ago with a simple desire: to behold beauty, absorb it, cultivate it, and share it.
But somewhere along the way, the consumer-driven “dahlia wars”—the unicorn chasing—have chipped away at that sacred appreciation. What was once a slower, thoughtful, joy-filled space can now feel anxious, tense, and occasionally toxic.
If you’ve been turned off by that shift or felt discouraged by the chase, this is my encouragement to you: take a deep breath. There is so much beauty waiting for you here. Dahlias were never meant to be a source of stress. They’re meant to express joy, emotion, delight, and beauty. When it becomes anything else, it’s worth pausing to recalibrate.
I had to do that yesterday. I realized my jealousy was tethered to money. Yes, this is my livelihood. Yes, farms need income to survive. But the moment anxiety takes the driver’s seat is the moment the whole thing begins to unravel. The flowers will fade, the vision will blur, and soon enough, the heart will no longer know the joy it once knew.
Maybe you read this and completely disagree—and that’s okay. We’re all in different places. Maybe you’re a farmer struggling to move a crop you worked tirelessly to grow. There are many reasons that happens, and that’s a much longer conversation. To my fellow growers, I implore you: with defiance, keep your heart tethered to the beauty.
And maybe you’re a buyer, or new to this flower, already overwhelmed by the frenzy of it all. It’s okay to go without the thing you thought you needed. Sometimes the treasure is the $40 tuber. Sometimes it’s the $6 one. In my decade of growing, I’ve been surprised—and disappointed—by both.
If you’re looking for a quieter, anxiety-free way to engage with these flowers, there are many small farms offering incredible varieties without the rush. Many of us are growers you may never see on the big lists. We don’t have a million followers, but we’re out there, and we care deeply about this work.
There is joy for all of us here.
The tagline for my own business is, “Make all things beautiful.” And to that end, I hope my morning musings align with that mission. May you have a realignment to the things that matter most, and may you rediscover the joy that dahlias really have to offer you.
