understory farm

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Sustainably grown, passionately loved, shamelessly earnest

cut flowers in Vermont's Champlain Valley

est. 2012

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Understory Farm LLC

2076 East Street,

Bridport, VT, 05734,

United States

802-282-6738 understoryfarmvt@gmail.com

Hours

Fri 8am-5pm

understoryfarmvt@gmail.com / 802-282-6738

The first flowers of the year opened up the same day I got my front teeth smashed in. I gave them to the doctors as an offering. The flowers, not the teeth. When they asked me how it happened I told them about greenhouses and forcing bulbs and coolin

I went outside to check on the heaters and I saw a rabbit in the sky. It’s the first airborne rabbit I’d ever seen. When I yelled out, and when the snow owl dropped her, and when the bed of snow cushioned her landing, I remembered how pri

Nothing stays hidden for long in this kind of cold. All of us, humans and animals alike, heave to the surface.

I’ve been noticing all of the particulars. The density of smoke, the meandering of paws in the snow, the accumulation of trash, all

Four weeks of snow washed away into the lake in less than four hours. And with it, all of the salt and sludge and emotional runoff that sums up a year. And without it, one continuous blanket of ice to lose my balance on.

I took this final shot on th

I aspire to aspire a little less every year. No big ambitions to grow more or sell more or be more. No big bonfire or yule log or wishing paper to ceremonialize the death of a thing and the birth of another. No giant expansion or augmentation to chan

In December, everyone leaves, and it doesn’t come as a surprise how difficult a person I am to manage unsupervised. I did my last fresh flower delivery the last day of November and then I started a fire that hasn’t quit since.

When I di

I cut the very last of the heirloom chrysanthemums today to hoard for nothing in particular. Right before the single digit cold arrives this week. The kind of cold that can swim through solids and grow a second coat on the cat.

Almost a year ago, l

When we started this farm on someone else’s land, lots of years ago, the old guy would perch himself in the barn and shoot sparrows with birdshot. Something about natives and invasives, tradition and protection. I remember this time of year wit