Page 1 of A Field of Beauty

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Minds are like flowers; they open only when the time is right.

—Stephen Lee

When Tessa Anderson looked in the mirror, she didn’t see a beautiful woman. She didn’t understand whatever it was that drew men to her like bees to a blossom. In fact, she thought of it as her “whatever.” Whatever it was, she sure didn’t trust it. She knew better than to trust it. So when Dawson Greene, a woolly haired, long-bearded, back-to-nature kind of guy, came into her life and didn’t seem at all dazzled by Tessa—not at all—she knew he was just the one to help her turn a recently purchased acre of worn-out, beat-up land into a flourishing flower farm.

She still hadn’t told her parents or older sisters about this big idea to own a flower farm. Two reasons. First of all, the Anderson family did not farm. They didn’t even mow their own lawns. They hired people who did that sort of thing. Second of all, her family had never understood how deeply Tessa loved flowers. As a teenager, she had worked in a floral shop in Sunrise, North Carolina, where her family had a summer home. While there, she’d developeda keen appreciation for how flowers filled the senses—sight, scent, touch, memory. Senses mattered. She’d learned that from Rose, the owner of the flower shop.

But Tessa had forgotten about the importance of flowers until just before her last quarter in college. Her advisor had reminded her that she was short on science credits and recommended an off-campus Sustainability Certificate program. It would suffice for needed credits in both biology and chemistry. Tessahadto graduate this spring—after dabbling for five years, her dad said the college funding tap would shut off in May—so she agreed to the program. That’s where she met Dawson Greene, an instructor on sustainability. And that’s where her idea to have a flower farm first came into focus. Then into reality.

On a cool spring day, Dawson had been teaching students the finer skill of composting. They had gathered around a steamy compost pile, and just as Dawson was about to stab a hayfork into the pile to turn it, Tessa let out a shout. On one side of the pile was a delicate narcissus flower in full bloom. Such delicate beauty had survived in the midst of old leaves, grass clippings, and who knew what else! It took her breath away. That little white flower represented the miracle of something beautiful out of something ugly, a shriveled bulb in a compost pile. And suddenly, she knew she wanted to be reminded of that miracle every single day. She needed to be around flowers. But not in a shop. At a flower farm. Hers.

Tessa cashed in some stocks left to her by grandparents and looked for a plot of affordable land. Through an unexpected tip, she ended up buying Mountain Farm, a small tomato farm in Asheville. Really small, as in one acre. It had once been part of a large farm, but over the years, section by section had been sold off, including the acreage with the big house. There was a little carriage house left where she planned to live. The land had potential—a flat acre, full sunshine, no trees or stumps, a well for irrigation, and close to town to sell the produce—but the soil was miserable. Gray, cloddy, tired, and weary.

Immediately, Tessa thought of Dawson Greene. She needed his help.

Dawson might look like a hippie with a furry beard and a bandanna tied around his shaggy hair, but he knew soil. He’d received consulting job offers from companies that sought his skills. She’d overheard him tell another instructor that he was considering a change from teaching the program and had some good opportunities.

If he could just see the land, she thought she’d stand a better chance to persuade him to help her transform Mountain Farm. So, on the pretense of asking his advice about the condition of the soil, she remained after class one day to invite him to come to see land that needed his expertise. What a weird connection to have with someone.Soil.

He looked at her as if she might have spoken in a foreign language. “What was your name again?”

So much for a connection. She’d been a student under Dawson’s instruction for months while doing the certificate program, and he’d never really noticed her. Most girls would be insulted. Not Tessa. She was pleased. He may not have noticed her, but she had noticed him. He had an understanding of nature like nobody’s business, not even Rose Reid, the owner of the flower shop where Tessa had worked.

“Tessa Anderson,” she said.

“Tessa Anderson,” he repeated, with a little nod.

“So will you come to the farm to give an analysis of the soil? Nothing official. Just a general opinion of its condition.”

“And this is for the owner?”

She hesitated, just for a moment, before saying, “Yes. For the owner.”

He looked up at the sky to check the time. She remembered him saying in class that he didn’t wear a watch because the sun told the time. “I suppose I could go now.”

Now? “Then ... let’s go.”

He drove his old Ford pickup truck behind her brand-spanking-new Audi sedan, a gift from her parents after (finally!) graduating from college.

After arriving at Mountain Farm, they walked out to the field, and Tessa swept her arm in a wide arc. “What do you think?”

Dawson bent down and picked up a clod of soil, crushed it in his palm. He rubbed the soil between his fingers, sniffed it, then tasted it. Wordlessly, he left her to walk up and down the fields, crouching down here and there to study the dirt. He was not the type to be quick to react, she reminded herself, though he did seem to be taking an extraordinarily long time. When he finally returned to Tessa, he said he would need to run some tests to determine the soil’s mineral content. “It’ll take a couple of days to get back the results.”

“Dawson, youtastedthe soil. I have no doubt you know exactly what this dirt needs.”

He shielded his eyes from the sun to scan the field. “Well, the soil is severely depleted. Desperately impoverished. A perfect environment to host foliage-devastating insects.”

She had expected that kind of report. “But it’s not beyond repair, right?”

“Soil is never beyond repair. That’s the great mystery of it. Nature is constantly at work to heal the mess humans make of this earth.”

A mantra he repeated often throughout the program. As critical as Dawson was of people’s stewardship of the planet, he was an admirer of how the earth could repair itself. It was a new thought to Tessa, full of hope.

“So,” she said, “what do you suggest?”

“Tell the farmer to stop whatever he’s been doing and grow cover crops that can be tilled back into the soil to replenish the lacking nutrients.”

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