MY STORY
I love being in relationship with the land here in the remnant Garry Oak ecosystem where I live. Season by season, the garden deeply connects me to the natural world and reminds me that I’m part of it; I belong. Growing, tending, gathering, and working creatively with flowers soothes my nervous system, orients me to beauty, and incites delight.
Everything I receive from this work is what I hope to pass on to folks who enjoy it: connection and belonging to nature, soothing, beauty, and delight.
My story begins with a historic house…
In spring of 2021, after years of downtown living in small apartments, my beloved and I moved to a suite in an old mansion on two-thirds of an acre. Only slightly outside of downtown Victoria, British Columbia, the house is located within a remnant Garry Oak ecosystem that was once tended by the Lekwungen people.
The house, by architect Samuel MacLure, who was known to be kind and cultured, was built in 1911/12 in the Tudor Revival Arts & Crafts style. Before it was turned into a dozen suites in the 60s, its original name was Clairden. City archives say that a pianist once lived here named Violet Carlotta, which only adds to the romance of the place.
We have the privilege of renting what used to be the “owner’s suite”. It’s 1,500 square feet, and though it’s part of a much larger house, it almost feels like its own cottage—albeit with one particularly large room with Edwardian crown molding that we jokingly call the “ballroom”. There are also wood floors, two working fireplaces, a clawfoot bathtub, a covered front porch, and—life-changingly—a big, lovely studio to call my own with a back door that leads to the garden.
After a year of lockdown trapped downtown in what was, in effect, a concrete bunker, we couldn’t get enough of the outdoors at Clairden. A walk in the garden taking in the many different trees, shrubs, mosses, lichens, grasses, and flowers—not to mention the deer, squirrels, raccoons, and birds—could easily take a half hour or more and we loved how it calmed us and made us feel like we could breathe again.
Near the end of July when my birthday neared, I asked my beloved for a flower press. I’ve always loved flowers. Throughout my life, I’ve stuck random flowers into books only to have them flutter out years later, papery and delicate. With that one small birthday flower press, already halfway into summer, I began, with tremendous delight, pressing flora from the property.
I learned as much as I could about pressing flowers those first few months. I took an online class and found a couple of vintage books on the subject. I figured out what techniques and materials worked best for me. I also learned the word “herbarium”, thanks to Helen Humprhey’s book Field Study: Meditations on a Year at the Herbarium.
A herbarium is a collection of dried plant specimens mounted on sheets of paper (it can also refer to the building that houses said collection). A popular Victorian pastime was to pick and press flowers and make an herbarium. Emily Dickinson had one, so did Henry David Thoreau.
It was also Helen’s book that helped me articulate the place pressed flowers had in my life as a person who is chronically ill, uses a cane, and can’t go very far. In the book she talks about how the social restrictions of the time made it easier and safer for women botanists (amateur or otherwise) to stay close to home to gather their plants and that significant collections could still be created that way. It was a reminder to me how rich a life can be, even when that life feels small and has limitations. Plus, as a writer first, it’s wonderful to have another creative practice to turn to when my brain wants something a bit more easeful.
I called the first big composition I made In the Garden We are Okay. I’d made it as a Christmas gift for my mum and posted a photo of the print on Instagram. Immediately, friends began messaging me to ask if it was for sale. ‘Why not?’ I thought.
As someone who has already established a small business to help creators be in practice, adding another side gig wasn’t too big of a leap. So, I rearranged my studio and came up with new systems to support the enterprise. I made a dozen more flower presses in varying sizes. I started my own pressing garden and am continuously learning about botany and floriography (the Victorian language of flowers). I took courses on how to ship and sell prints. And, of course, I began creating works, having amassed over two hundred species of pressed flora.
And here we are. It’s a lovely place to be.
