Winter in southeastern Oklahoma is its own thing.

Oklahoma weather is interesting all year long, but winter? Winter doesn’t always follow the rules. The first frost usually comes late, and some years you’ll still see people picking tomatoes close to Thanksgiving. We’ll have more mild days than truly cold ones… until suddenly we don’t. And when the cold finally does show up, it is biting, windy cold. Once or twice, snow comes through and is gone before you can even get used to it. But, most days, winter here looks like bare trees and brown grass. 

As a flower farmer, that first frost is always a little bittersweet. It’s the official goodbye to the blooms, butterflies, and bees. Our first year running a flower farm was a whirlwind of planting, harvesting, arranging, and selling. And when suddenly, the growing season is over and winter comes, it can feel quiet in a way that catches you off guard. After watching the fields explode with life all spring, summer, and fall, winter feels very still. 

But here’s the thing: on a farm, winter matters. The stillness and the quiet are necessary.

Flowers are seasonal by design. They show up when the conditions are right and die when they’re not. And if you choose to grow with the seasons, like we do, there’s simply no shortcut through winter. The land sets the pace, and your only option is to follow along.

That lesson applies to more than farming. Winter reminds us that constant output isn’t the goal, sustainability is. Rest is part of every system. After months of production, the farm requires a pause, because that is what nature intended.

And out of that pause, spring becomes possible. Many of the wildflowers you see on the side of the road - Milkweed, Coneflowers, Blanketflower, Coreopsis, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Asters - they all actually need the cold to exist. Their seeds that drop in the fall rely on cold stratification, or a period of cold, moist conditions, to break dormancy and germinate. Without that stretch of cold, those seeds might never wake up at all. It’s such a simple but powerful lesson: nature needs time to reset and recover. The farmer does too.

Winter work still happens on the farm. It just looks different. It’s not the kind of work you can show off on social media with a pretty bouquet in hand. It’s slower, more introspective, and a little more behind-the-scenes.

Seed catalogs start piling up on the kitchen table. Notes get scribbled in margins. Fields are mapped out again and again. Some days, you’re checking dahlia tubers in their storage boxes, making sure they’re not rotting. Other days, you’re planting tulip bulbs, and crossing your fingers that they get the cold they need for as long as they need it. The seed trays get dusted off. The dream starts taking shape again.

In a town like McAlester, winter naturally supports a slower pace. Even community life moves differently. In today’s world where it’s easy to fall into a mindset of constant motion and productivity, there’s something to be said about a time of fewer events, fewer obligations, fewer places you need to be. 

And maybe that’s why winter feels so grounding on the farm, as much as I miss the flowers. Without blooms, the farm becomes about what lies underneath… rows, soil, possibility, potential. It’s a reminder that flowers, like everything else, are part of a bigger system built on patience and timing and balance. No matter how much we want to rush it, we benefit most when we live in the rhythm. 

By living in this rhythm, our lives become more intentional, more about embracing what the season has to offer and teach us, instead of wishing it away. Slowing down creates space to notice, reflect, and be present. It makes room for creativity that isn’t rushed. It is trusting that more is coming… Just not yet.

Just a few months after that first frost, the first seeds are started for the coming spring. And before we know it, small-town life starts waking back up, too. The calendar fills again with music festivals, farmers markets, community fairs, and lake weekends. But in the meantime, winter is a good time to cozy up at your favorite local coffee shop, linger a little longer in conversation, and enjoy the quiet. It’s also the perfect time to pop in and support your favorite local stores during the slow season — the small businesses that keep our town charming year-round.

Spring will come. It always does.

But it’s shaped by what happens now. By the quiet planning, the intentional rest, and the willingness to slow down when the season asks for it. Winter may not look like much on a flower farm, but it’s full of becoming. And if we let it, winter can teach us how to move through our own seasons a bit more connected — to the land, to our communities, to each other, and to ourselves.