One of my first memories of flowers was climbing around my great grandmother’s rock garden at her house on Kiser Lake. I was in awe of the colors and varieties during the changing seasons when we would visit. There was a path of daisies between her house and my uncle’s house next door and you just couldn’t walk by it without picking one along the way.

We moved and traveled a lot when I was young, and although the landscapes were ever changing, my love for plants continued to grow. From the strawberry plants we had on our back patio when I was a kid, to admiring my best friends mother who was a floral designer, to picking fresh citrus straight from the trees when we lived in California. It was all so beautiful to me. I collected my favorite blooms as a child, like Johnny Jump Ups, and tucked them away in my flower press. My mom and I would later use them to make homemade stationery. We were always gifted cuttings from my grandma’s houseplants (her living room was like a jungle, so many varieties) and I was fascinated watching the roots grow. We harvested Spanish Moss hanging from trees while visiting family in South Carolina and we grew strawflowers in our own garden and made dried flower wreaths. In my teen years, I worked at a few garden centers and loved learning as much as I could from my co-workers. All of this ultimately led me to pursue a degree in Horticulture, in which I interned as a florist and also worked at a golf course. I am proud to say I have my degree in “Dirt” as my dad often joked.

College is where I met my husband and we bought a house and moved back to his hometown where we lived for 20 years and raised our two amazing sons. I loved getting plants from neighbors and family, dividing our perennials, enjoyed container gardening, and creating miniature gardens. We even had a little greenhouse out back a few years and tried at a vegetable garden, but time in our yard and garden gradually shifted to being on the road more heading to ball practice or games every night as the boys grew older.

I asked my husband what one of his first memories was of plants or flowers and his response was the vegetable gardens at his childhood home and also at his grandparent’s house, which is where we now call home. Locust Ridge.

We feel so blessed we were able to buy his grandparents place and keep it in the family. They named it Locust Ridge years ago and we have carried on the name. It’s an honor to live in the home they built and took care of, both living into their nineties. I look at each tree and shrub differently here, wondering when it was planted or who picked it out or if it was a gift from someone. Each one serving as a little reminder of a part of the yard they once had lovingly tended to for so many years.

Since moving here, we have added new varieties of plants and bulbs, while also removing some. I’ve enjoyed making arrangements and you’ll find vases and jars filled with foliage and flowers scattered around the patio and house. I always snip and take fresh cuts with me when I visit Grandma and Grandpa at the cemetery. It feels so full circle.

I’ve always dreamt of having a “brick and mortar” flower shop in town, but just as times have changed so has my dream shifted. I am able to see what I may be able to do right where I am, with what I have and also with plans to expand and grow, all while serving the very same local community, if I just continue to trust in His great plan and timing.

While only one locust tree remains, it is beneath it where you’ll find our Flower Stand. Here, at Locust Ridge.

-Kelly Bails