About Me

I started growing dahlias for one reason and one reason only: my mama.

She has a green thumb that defies logic — the kind where plants thrive simply because she’s near them — yet she’s always said she “can’t grow flowers.” After she spent several years putting her own life on hold to take care of our family (and patiently putting up with me far more than most would), I wanted to do something big to show my appreciation. For Mother’s Day 2024, I decided I was going to grow her the one thing she believed she couldn’t.

At the time, I had zero intentions of starting a flower farm. And even now, the idea still seems absolutely absurd.

I grew up in Key West, Florida, on a sailboat. No yard. No garden. No lawn. I didn’t even know how to mow until I was in my mid-thirties. For the seven years prior to Red Clay Dahlias, I was a welder — alongside one of my best buddies who lives just up the road. We welded side by side for years, and without even realizing it, he taught me what being Appalachian truly means: show up, work hard, take pride in what you do, and keep family at the center of it all.

He’s much younger than I am, and I’ve watched him grow up over the years. Looking back, I was still growing up too. Today, his wife Katelyn is the photographer for my farm. His mom Elizabeth, and grandma — MawAnn — happen to grow some of the most incredible dahlias. Around here, that matters.

In the spring of 2024, I dug eight rows — each 20 feet long and 3 feet wide — straight out of tightly packed red clay sod that had been mowed year after year, and grew 200 dahlias. In 2025, that number grew to 1,100. No shortcuts. Just determination, countless hours of research, and a whole lot of learning as I went.

And then there were the dahlias.

They go from one ugly little “tater” to blooms the size of your head in just a few short months. I will never stop being amazed by that transformation. I deeply resonate with changing in what feels like a very short period of time. Since I began growing dahlias, I’ve heard the same two things over and over again: “My grandma or mamaw grew the most beautiful dahlias — these remind me so much of her,” and “Are those fake?”

Those comments stuck with me.

In these mountains, dahlias are more than flowers. For generations, families have decorated the graves of their loved ones each summer or fall — a tradition called Decoration, honoring those who came before us and remain rooted in our red clay mountains. MawAnn and Elizabeth are some of the few who still grow dahlias specifically for decoration, and continue to carry on this tradition faithfully.

In the short time I’ve been growing dahlias, I’ve realized we’re standing in the middle of a generational shift — one where old ways risk being lost to time and technology. What happens when Mamaw or Grandma is gone, and no one remembers how to grow what mattered?

That’s something I don’t want to see disappear.

I’m a single mom to an incredible daughter who loves sharing our dahlias just as much as I do. The older I get, the more clearly I understand how important family truly is — the one you’re born into and the one that becomes your home. My parents shaped me in the best possible ways: my dad taught me to plan, to be realistic, to base decisions on facts, and to carry a bit of stubborn resilience. My mom taught me how to dream, be creative, believe in what could be, and reminds me daily how important kindness and compassion are. Red Clay Dahlias lives somewhere right in the middle of those lessons.

I’ll be honest: I still don’t fully know what I’m doing. Most days I’m riding on hope, a prayer, and a growing mess of scribbled notes scattered everywhere along the way. But for the first time in my life, I’ve found something that truly lights up my soul — work I want to show up for, dig into, and see through.

Red Clay Dahlias is rooted in red clay, family, legacy, and learning as I grow.

(The man below is filled with a wealth of plant information, the most beautiful soul, and without whom I would be lost. I have driven him crazy with all my questions, and Red Clay Dahlias wouldn't be what it is today if it wasn't for him. My friend, Wade Mccourry.)