Falling for Dahlias: A Love Story in Bloom

If you had told me years ago that dahlias would become one of the defining loves of my farming life, I probably have believed you, though not for the reasons you’d expect. Long before I ever planted a tuber, I tattooed a dahlia on my side. At the time, I was drawn to its intricate beauty, its layers, its quiet boldness. I didn’t yet know that one day I’d be covered in soil, carefully coaxing those same blooms out of the ground.

Like some flower farmers, my early inspiration came from afar and mostly in pictures. I fell in love with the dreamy fields of Floret Flower Farm in Washington’s Skagit Valley and devoured the pages of Discovering Dahlias. Those images planted something in me long before I had the space or courage to grow them myself.

In 2022, we finally had the chance and took the leap. We started small(ish), with just under 40 plants gifted from a friend’s grandfather. It seemed manageable, but in combination with a CSA and full produce offering, it was actually quite ambitious. Dahlias have a way of expanding, multiplying rapidly, and absorbing more of your attention. The following year, our collection more than doubled to over 100 plants. By 2025, we were tending 375 plants across 25 varieties. What started as curiosity quickly became a full-blown obsession.

Part of the magic of dahlias is their sheer diversity. They come in forms that feel almost unreal ranging from tiny pom-poms, elegant waterlilies, spiky cactus blooms, and those unforgettable dinnerplate varieties as big as your head. The color range alone is enough to stop you in your tracks: soft pastels, fiery oranges, moody burgundies, and everything in between. Some feel romantic and nostalgic, others bold and electric. There’s truly a dahlia for everyone.

And then there are the pollinators. In 2023, we began growing dahlias from seed, focusing on more open-faced varieties. These simpler blooms, often overlooked in favor of the showier doubles, became some of our favorites. Watching bees and other pollinators move freely through them added a whole new layer of appreciation. Beauty doesn’t always have to be complex to be powerful.

Despite their reputation as “divas,” dahlias are, in many ways, incredibly generous. They bloom tirelessly from mid-summer (usually July for us) until the first hard frost. The more you cut, the more they produce. They multiply underground through tubers, turning one plant into many over time. It’s abundance in its purest form, and it’s something we’re always excited to share.

Our growing process has evolved alongside our collection. Each spring, we pot up some tubers in the greenhouse around April to give them a head start. We also plant out entire clumps to create a kind of hedgerow effect that’s lush, full, and early to bloom. Alongside those, we plant individual tubers in rows, staggering growth and extending our harvest window. Watching them emerge, grow, branch, and finally burst into bloom never gets old. There’s a rhythm to it and a quiet unfolding that rewards patience.

Of course, the beauty comes with a cost. November arrives, and suddenly it’s a race against the clock to dig everything before the ground freezes. It’s messy, exhausting work, and every year I swear I’ll be more prepared. And every year, dividing tubers stretches into the “quiet” winter months…and often into March. But even in the middle of that chaos, surrounded by crates of tangled tubers and half-labeled varieties, I can’t help but feel grateful. These plants demand a lot, but they give even more.

Dahlias may not have the longest vase life, but what they lack in longevity, they make up for in presence. They’re the kind of flower that stops you mid-step, that makes people ask questions, that brings joy in a way that’s hard to explain but easy to feel.

Looking ahead, my dreams for our dahlia journey are shifting. While it’s tempting to keep expanding, I’m feeling called to scale back just a bit in order to create space for deeper exploration. I want to trial more varieties from seed, to play, to experiment, and maybe even to hybridize something entirely our own. The idea of creating a new dahlia, one that carries a piece of our farm’s story, feels like a natural next chapter.

This is just the beginning of a larger dahlia journey. In another post, we’ll walk through the practical side of growing and caring for these plants and touch on topics from planting to harvest to storage. And soon, we’ll also be sharing a full look at our dahlia collection, highlighting the unique varieties we’ve fallen in love with along the way. We’ll even be offering select tubers for sale, so you can grow a little piece of this magic in your own space.

For now, I’ll just say this: dahlias have a way of finding you, whether through a tattoo, a book, or a single bloom at a market stand. And once they do, it’s very hard to let them go.

Honestly, I wouldn’t want to.