Before we get into this, you might want to grab a coffee. Trust me, everything reads better when you’re sipping something warm. Go ahead, I’ll wait…

Alright, ready? Let’s do this.

If you told me years ago that flowers would become my peace, my purpose, and a tiny slice of sanity, I would have laughed and asked if you had the wrong girl. I grew up a total tomboy. Played drums. Loved fast cars. Anything competitive, especially sports. Anything that made my mom sigh and say, “Could you act more like a girl?” I was not the sweet flower type. If anything, younger me would have trimmed flowers with my brother’s golf clubs.

But life has a way of reshaping you gently and then all at once. Motherhood, running businesses, weeks on end without my partner and eldest child home, a wild toddler glued to my hip, and a teen living out their college adventures… it all humbles you in ways you don’t expect. It softens edges you didn’t even realize had gotten sharp. And doing it all after six spinal fusions has taught me that strength looks different for everyone. Some days it’s bold, some days it’s quiet, but it’s always there. And on the days when it’s just me keeping everything moving, I can’t help but laugh a little, because somehow, even in the chaos, my heart still finds room to grow.

I didn’t set out to become a flower farmer. It kind of slipped into my life quietly. It reminded me of my parents who somehow ran a coffee shop full time while tending a big backyard garden in the city. They did it the way so many immigrant families did, growing their own food to save money and make ends meet. Veggies, herbs, chickens… the whole setup. Now I realize how grounding it must have been.

Eventually, I found myself needing something grounding too. Something calm. Something I could nurture with no pressure, no deadlines, no expectations.

By this point in life, I had already done what everyone told me I was supposed to do. I went to college and university for Business Accounting and Leadership. I built a career that made sense on paper. I worked hard, supported my family, and carved out a path that was steady and respectable. But none of it prepared me for how heavy life can feel when your body is recovering from surgery after surgery or when you're balancing motherhood with business responsibilities and a partner who works away. The numbers and spreadsheets kept the lights on, but they didn’t give me a place to breathe.

 And then I found dahlias.

And honestly, it shocked nobody more than me.

Dahlias are dramatic, bold, and come in every shape and colour (except blue) you can imagine. Their beauty is ridiculous, but what hooked me wasn’t just their looks. It was how much they reminded me of myself. Their stems are strong, but they still need support when things get windy. They grow big and loud and full of personality, but underneath it all, they’re tender and need care. They go through rough seasons, get dug up, stored away, and somehow come back even better.

That mix of tough and soft, strong and still needing a little help… yeah. I felt that.

So dahlias became the heart of Her Homestead. They gave me something meaningful to grow when life felt heavier than usual. They reminded me that strength doesn’t mean doing everything alone. And they taught me that starting over doesn’t mean you’re broken, it means you’re building again.

And that’s really how this all started. Not from extra time. Not from a perfect business plan. Just from a genuine desire to create something beautiful, warm, and full of heart. A place where I could grow something meaningful and share it with anyone who needs a smile, a bouquet, or a reminder that good things still grow during messy seasons.

Since you’re here, I hope you feel that warmth too. Take your time, wander around, and make yourself at home. I’m really glad you’re here. This space isn’t perfect, it’s just real. No fluff. No Pinterest-perfect photos. It’s dirt under my nails, coffee gone cold, and joy in the little things. If anything here reminds you to slow down, breathe, or see the beauty in your own messy garden, then it’s all worth it.

Here’s to growing good things, in our gardens, in our homes, and in ourselves.

♡ Jo