Page 5 of A Field of Beauty

Sweet! But ... discomforting.

They’d hardly had more than a handful of dates! He was right about their schedules—neither of them had a surfeit of spare time. She wasn’t sure what her feelings were for Tyler ... other than feeling consistently overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. But maybe that quality wasn’t so bad in a man. Maybe she needed someone like Tyler, who was so convinced she wasthe one. After the Sunrise experience, she didn’t think she’d ever trust her instincts again. Maybe she should be more open-minded to Tyler’s plans for a future together. He was articulate, well groomed, successful, and an all-around catch. A man her parents would heartily approve of. She wasn’t in love with Tyler, not yet, but what did she know about love? Not much.

Switching mental gears, she changed out of her dress and into her overalls, grabbed her hat and gloves, and hurried out to help Dawson. He was on his way back to the field with another load in the wheelbarrow and stopped as she approached him. “I thought you were going away with 3T’s.”

Dawson referred to Tyler as 3T’s because his name was Tyler Thompson the Third. Tyler always introduced himself with his full name ... which could sound a bit pretentious. But the Thompson family had a long history in Asheville, and Tyler was campaigning for city council. The first political office of many, he hoped. He had big aspirations.

Dawson didn’t care much for Tyler’s politics, or for Tyler’s silver-spoon upbringing, or for Tyler. Then again, Dawson didn’t really like most people. He was a loner. Sometimes Tessa wondered what his living conditions might be like. She imagined him in a neglected Airstream tucked somewhere off in the deep woods. She glanced at him. Underneath that hippie hair might be an attractive guy, she thought, though she couldn’t be sure. Other than a pair of blue eyes and a Roman nose, his fuzzy beard covered his face. He was certainly physically fit, strong, hardworking. Maybe she should try and find a girlfriend for him. Someone who hadlow social needs, who didn’t require conversation. A librarian, perhaps. An undertaker.

She shrugged. “It got canceled.”

Dawson’s bushy eyebrows lifted, and she wondered what was running through his mind. Did he suspect she had done the canceling? Was he pleased she would be sticking around for the weekend? But he revealed nothing more than surprise. “Well, then, better go get your hoe. We’ve got seeds to sow.”

Tessa took the lead as the sower, scattering red clover seeds over each row. Dawson worked a few feet behind her, turning soil over the seeds and tamping it down. Come winter, he would till the rows of clover into the earth to decompose, adding vital nutrients. Green manure, Dawson called it. Full of nitrogen.

Tessa had expected and needed Dawson’s help to improve the soil, but to her delight, he plunged headfirst into the science of growing flowers. She’d had a grandiose plan to divide the acre into three sections, to grow different varieties of flowers that could be sold at market for spring, summer, and fall. Pretty good idea, she thought. Sweet peas and peonies in the spring, durable zinnias in the summer, dahlias in the fall. “This way,” she said, “we can be a steady supplier of fresh-cut flowers. Nearly all year long.”

But Dawson nixed her plan. Too many varieties grown too soon, he said, would be distracting. Different plant needs, different problems, different harvests. “From everything I’ve researched, fall flowers are in high demand with a shortage of supply. That’s our window of opportunity.”

Research. He had doneresearchon the supply of cut flowers! She had to hold back a smile.

He proposed growing one rare variety of a popular cut flower and to grow them well. “What do you think of chrysanthemums? Easy to grow. Always in demand.”

“No!” Tessa might have replied louder than intended, because his eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t grow chrysanthemums as her first crop. They took her right back to the flower shop in Sunrise.The scent of them, the sight of them. Rose used all kinds of chrysanthemums in arrangements. “Definitely not chrysanthemums.” She cleared her throat. “What about dahlias? They grow from tubers and can be a little difficult, but they’re considered the peonies of autumn.” She knew that from working in Rose’s Flower Shop.

He nodded. “That was my second choice.”

“No other varieties?” She had such a vibrant image in her head! The field was full of colorful blooms.

“Adding varietals can come later,” he said. “This first year, we need to start slow, start strong, and establish the name of Mountain Blooms Farm in Asheville.”

Such a thought made Tessa’s heart sing. Someone believed in her dream!

three

The very best relationship has a gardener and a flower. The gardener nurtures and the flower blooms.

—Carole Radziwill

A few weeks later, Tessa was starting her daily early-morning stroll through the field when she saw tiny green clover leaves poking through the soil at Mountain Blooms Farm. Dawson had been watching for this moment. He had plans to spread rolls of plastic mulch over the rows, cutting holes for the clover plants to grow, to protect young plants from frost damage over the winter. A lot of backbreaking work! Tessa thought he might be going overboard, considering the clover would be tilled right back into the soil in a few months. Considering not a single bug was on this field without his permission.

He shook his head. “We’re not just doing this for clover. We’ll be doing this for the main crop plants too. Mulch is better than sliced bread. Better than salad in a bag. Better than—”

“Gotcha,” Tessa said. But that didn’t stop him from explaining how mulch helped to keep the weeds down, lengthened thegrowing season, and protected plants from insects. By the end of his mulch lecture, she was a believer. Mulch was a miracle worker.

Early one morning, Tessa was hosing out an old horse trailer she’d bought for a song at a tag sale over the weekend. She’d always been drawn to unusual things that most people overlooked. When Dawson drove up, she saw rolls of plastic mulch in the truck bed and knew what they’d be doing this week. All week long.

“Morning, Dawson. What do you think of this?”

He turned around from hoisting a roll of mulch out of the truck bed and gave her a certain look, as if to say,What now?It was their shtick. She’d pose a new idea and he’d react in a long-suffering way. “I think it’s an old horse trailer.”

“Itwas,” Tessa said. “But I’m converting it into a flower trailer so that we can take it to farmers’ markets.”

“The WNC?”

The Western North Carolina farmers’ market. “No. That’s way too big for us. I was thinking of small farmers’ markets. The ones that pop up all over Asheville in the summers. You know, once a week for a few hours in the morning.” She turned off the hose to set it down, then walked over to him. “Can’t you just imagine it cleaned up, filled with buckets of flowers inside, and our new logo painted on its side?” In the evenings, she’d been doodling ideas for logos.

“It’s a trailer. How’re you planning to haul it to farmers’ markets?”

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