The idea of the bucket list kind of appalls me, given so many bucket list aspirations are ecologically unwise. Swim in an aquarium in Dubai? Climb Kilimanjaro? Ski powder in Japan? Okay, I want to ski powder in Japan, but you get my point: we all can’t do it all, or else there will be little left for those who come after us.
Thankfully, that’s not true about flower farming.
I didn’t realize I had my own bucket list until I saw—for real, not in pictures, but truly, for myself—the bountiful buckets of flowers at Floret. We’d been sent out to harvest and snipped to our hearts' content. Handful after handful, we went through the hoop houses, harvesting every flower that lured, that spoke, that called. The abundance fed me, and as the flowers amassed, every big bucket said ‘yes’. Yes: this is happiness. Yes: too much is for once, alright.
Open your arms. This is your wild and precious life.
* The title of this post is taken directly from the poem 'The Summer Day' by Mary Oliver.