Greg's Journal: I Never Planned to Become a Lavender Farmer

Greg's Journal | Entry No. 4

If you'd asked me twenty years ago what I'd be doing today, I can promise you one answer would not have been "growing lavender."

I would've laughed. I would've told you I was a nurse. Maybe someday a nurse anesthetist. Maybe a husband. Hopefully a father.

But a lavender farmer?

That would've never crossed my mind.

Life has a funny way of taking you places you never planned to go. And looking back, I'm grateful it did.

It Started With a Lawn Mower

Most people imagine there was some romantic moment where Marion and I stood in a lavender field and fell in love with the idea of growing it.

That's not how it happened. The truth is much more practical.

When we bought the old Bloomfield Schoolhouse, there was a lot of grass. A lot.

I bought a mower. I bought a trailer. And every week I found myself mowing. Then mowing again. Then mowing some more.

One day I started wondering what we could plant that would look beautiful and keep me from mowing quite so much.

That's honestly how this started.

I even looked at growing goji berries for a while.

Lavender eventually won because it fit the property, looked beautiful around the schoolhouse, came back every year, and seemed like something that could actually support itself if we worked hard enough.

Sometimes people expect a profound origin story. Mine was simply this:

"I'd really like to mow less."

Sometimes that's enough.

The First Lavender Field

The first lavender field I ever walked through wasn't ours. It was at Becker Vineyards in Fredericksburg, Texas.

Marion and I had been married a couple of years. We were visiting wineries one afternoon.

I remember thinking, "Well, that's pretty."

It smelled good. It looked peaceful. That was about the extent of my thoughts.

Lavender occupied exactly zero headspace in my life after that. It wasn't a calling. It wasn't a dream. It was simply another beautiful thing we happened to see.

I had no idea it would eventually become such a large part of our family's story.

Watching Something Grow

There's something rewarding about starting with a tiny plant.

We don't begin with large, mature lavender bushes. We plant small plugs. They don't look like much. You have to imagine what they'll become.

You water them. You weed around them. You protect them through the winter. Then one day, almost without noticing exactly when it happened, they're covered in purple blooms.

That process reminds me a lot of raising children. Or building a business. Or even becoming a nurse.

The beginning rarely looks impressive. Growth takes patience. You don't always see progress from one day to the next.

But if you keep showing up, remarkable things begin to happen.

The Farmers Market Changed Everything

For me, lavender really became personal at the farmers market.

Our kids were still little. They helped cut bunches of lavender. They stood beside Marion selling them. People loved talking with them. They asked questions.

Then they started asking something unexpected.

"Do you make soap?"

"What about lotion?"

"Do you have candles?"

We didn't. Not yet.

Marion went home and started learning. Then experimenting. Then creating.

One product became five. Five became twenty.

Today, when people walk into the Bloomfield Apothecary, they're seeing years of curiosity, learning, and hard work that all started because customers asked a simple question. They shaped our business as much as we did.

Lavender Means Something Different Now

People often ask me what lavender smells like.

That's actually harder to answer than you'd think.

When I first encountered lavender, it simply smelled nice. Now, it smells like home.

It reminds me of our children helping bundle flowers in the sunroom. It reminds me of evenings spent harvesting together. It reminds me of Marion developing recipes at the kitchen table. It reminds me of early mornings loading the truck for farmers markets. It reminds me of friendships we've built. It reminds me of this community that believed in us long before we believed this business could become what it is today.

Funny how scent works.

Scientists talk about the connection between smell and memory. I don't know all the neuroscience behind that. I just know that every time I smell fresh lavender, I don't simply smell a flower anymore. I smell our family's story.

My Favorite Time on the Farm

People assume my favorite place is standing in the middle of the field when it's in full bloom. That's certainly beautiful.

But my favorite moments happen in the evening. The sun is beginning to set. The air cools off. Sometimes you hear birds settling into the trees.

One Sunday I was pulling weeds while an Amish church service was taking place just down the road. I could hear them singing. I stopped working for a minute. Just listened.

Those are the moments that stay with me. Not because we accomplished something extraordinary. Because they remind me why we started.

What Lavender Has Taught Me

Lavender has taught me that life doesn't always unfold according to plan.

Sometimes your greatest opportunities begin with practical decisions instead of grand dreams. Sometimes you start by trying to mow less, and end up building a business that brings people together.

It's taught me that beautiful things grow slowly. That community matters. That hard work compounds over time. That giving often comes back to you in ways you never expected.

Most of all, it's reminded me that success isn't always about choosing the perfect path. Sometimes it's about being willing to embrace the unexpected one.

If someone had told the younger version of me that one day I'd help run a lavender farm, restore a 1904 schoolhouse, and spend evenings harvesting flowers with my wife and children, I probably wouldn't have believed them.

Now I can't imagine my life without it.

Sometimes the best stories are the ones we never planned to write.

For the Quiet Hours,
Greg Wiggins, CRNA
Co-Founder, Bloomfield Schoolhouse Lavender