When Mother Nature Doesn’t Read the Farm Plan

The 2026 lavender season behind the pretty pictures -- A version of lavender farming exists in photographs.

Purple rows. Blue skies. Baskets overflowing with lavender. Maybe a pair of cute garden boots that have somehow never encountered actual mud.

And then there was 2026.

Apparently, Mother Nature did not receive our farm plan.

She certainly didn’t read the calendar.

We had rain.

And then we had more rain.

And just when we thought perhaps we had discussed the subject of rain sufficiently…

it rained again.

Farming has a way of reminding you that no matter how carefully you plan, you’re never actually the one in charge.

A Season to Remember

We knew early on that this wasn’t going to be an easy growing season.

It wasn’t necessarily how much rain we received. It was the timing of it.

One day it would rain. The next day we’d get a break. Just about the time we’d start thinking we could get back into the fields, here came the rain again.

For a farm, one dry day between rains isn’t necessarily a dry day.

The ground has to dry enough to support a tractor without turning the field into a muddy mess. And as the grass and weeds grew taller, we needed an even longer stretch between rains. Trying to mow too soon meant risking bogging the tractor down in wet ground—or having wet, heavy grass clogging the mower blades.

So we waited.

And while we waited, the weeds did not.

They grew.

And grew.

Which meant we needed even more drying time before we could mow them.

And then it would rain again.

It became a frustrating little cycle:

Rain → wait → almost dry enough → rain → taller weeds → now we need even more drying time.

There were plenty of days when the sun was shining and, to anyone driving past, it probably looked like a perfectly good day to be working in the fields.

We looked at that same sunshine and thought, Just give us two or three more days…

Mother Nature rarely did.

By the time we finally got a long enough window, it felt less like routine mowing and more like reclaiming territory.

And Then Came the Bugs

There was another consequence to getting behind on mowing that we hadn’t exactly put on the 2026 farm calendar.

Bugs. So. Many. Bugs.

As the grass and weeds stayed taller for longer stretches, there was simply more vegetation around the farm—and from where we stood, the insects seemed perfectly happy about it.

Ticks and mosquitoes were an ongoing battle.

But the award for Most Unpleasant Farm Companion of 2026 unquestionably goes to the horseflies.

They were enormous.

They were persistent.

And they apparently considered Kari and Jason an all-you-can-eat buffet.

There is nothing quite like trying to accomplish actual farm work while being stalked by a horsefly that appears large enough to have its own ZIP code.

We can’t tell you that the weather or tall vegetation caused the horseflies we saw this year. We can only tell you what it was like working here:

They were particularly bad. And particularly big.

And all of it added another layer to an already difficult season.

The longer we couldn’t mow, the more overgrown things became. The more overgrown they became, the longer we needed the ground and vegetation to dry before we could safely get machinery back through it.

Meanwhile, nature kept right on doing what nature does.

We were just trying to catch up.

And then came the heat.

Suddenly we were trying to catch up on weeks of fieldwork in temperatures that made you question every life decision that had led to owning a lavender farm in Tennessee.

The lavender, however, didn’t seem particularly concerned about whether the farmers were tired.

The work still had to happen.

And Somehow, the Lavender Bloomed

That’s the funny thing about looking back at a difficult season.

There was plenty that went wrong.

But so much also went right.

The lavender bloomed.

The gates opened.

And you came.

Some of you were longtime friends of the farm, returning to walk the rows again. Others drove through our gates for the very first time—looking for a new place to explore, a quiet afternoon in the countryside, or simply the chance to stand among lavender in bloom.

We welcomed visitors from across Tennessee and from other states.

And then there was a visit we’ll probably be talking about for quite some time.

Australia.

Someone traveled from Australia and found their way to our little lavender farm in Morrison, Tennessee.

There are moments in farming when you’re so focused on the next job—the weather, the weeds, the harvest, whatever needs fixing—that you forget to look up and see what has grown around you.

That was one of those moments that made us look up.

These fields we planted here at Homestead had somehow become a tiny part of someone’s travels from the other side of the world.

That’s pretty special.

Good Things Grow When Gardeners Gather

We were also honored to welcome the McMinnville Garden Club for its annual meeting at the farm.

There’s something especially enjoyable about sharing the farm with people who understand what it means to grow things.

Gardeners know.

They know that the beautiful bloom is only one part of the story. They understand weather watching, pruning, soil, weeds, insects, plants that thrive—and plants that inexplicably decide they have had quite enough of your care and attention.

So spending time with fellow growers among the lavender made for a particularly lovely day.

The Part Behind the Pretty Pictures

That’s one reason we wanted to write this down.

If you visited during bloom, hopefully you saw something beautiful.

You saw purple rows.

You carried bouquets home.

You took photographs.

Children explored. Friends wandered the fields together. We talked with you in the field or storefront and under the barn roof. We welcomed familiar faces and met new ones we hope will eventually become familiar, too.

Those are the parts of a farm season that tend to make it into photographs.

The weeds just outside the frame usually don’t.

Neither does the plant we lost three rows over.

Or the mud on our boots.

Or the weather app we’ve checked approximately 4,792 times.

And that’s okay.

The beautiful parts are real.

They’re just not the whole story.

From Bloom to Harvest

Of course, the lavender doesn’t stay purple forever.

Eventually, U-Pick bouquets give way to harvest baskets, and the fields that welcomed visitors become working fields once again.

Lavender is cut and gathered.

Basket after basket comes in from the field.

And then some of that lavender makes its way to the still.

This is one of our favorite parts of what we do.

We’ve watched these plants from their first signs of spring growth. We’ve worried over them through too much rain and too much heat. We’ve watched buds form, waited for color, opened the farm for bloom, cut bouquets, and harvested rows.

And then we get to follow the lavender one step further.

From our fields to our still.

Through distillation, the lavender we’ve grown and harvested here at Homestead becomes essential oil and hydrosol.

There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing that journey.

We know the field.

We know the plants.

We know who harvested them.

And we know where we distilled them.

It doesn’t get much more local than that.

Maybe the Weather Isn’t the Best Measure of a Season

It would be easy to remember 2026 as the year of the rain.

Or the weeds.

Or the heat.

Or the plants we lost.

Or, heaven help us, the horseflies.

And believe us, we will remember all of those things.

But when we think about this season years from now, we’re pretty sure something else will come to mind first.

The people.

The bouquets carried out of the fields.

The photographs.

The conversations.

The children exploring.

The returning visitors we were delighted to see again.

The new faces.

The Garden Club.

And yes, we’ll probably still be telling people about Australia.

Thank You for Being Part of Our Season

Whether you visited the farm, joined us for a tour, picked a bouquet, shopped in our little farm store, placed an order from miles away, shared one of our posts, recommended us to a friend, or simply followed along as the fields changed through the season—

Thank you.

A farm is measured in acres, rows, plants, and harvests.

But those numbers have never told the whole story of Homestead.

The better measure might be the people who find their way here, the conversations shared beneath the barn roof, and the memories that leave the farm tucked beside bundles of lavender.

So yes, 2026 was a season to remember.

Maybe not always for the reasons we expected.

There were storms, weeds, lost plants, plenty of heat, and more than a few plans that Mother Nature completely ignored.

There were mosquitoes.

There were ticks.

There were horseflies apparently large enough to require their own flight plans.

But there was also lavender.

There were people.

There was laughter.

There was harvest.

And there was another season on this little farm that we’ll never get to repeat exactly the same way again.

The fields are quieter now.

And so are we.

At least until Mother Nature gets next year’s plans. 💜

With thanks from our Homestead,
Kari & Jason
The hands behind the fields