Growing up on an organic dairy farm, my brother and I would often make the hike to the "Schell Farm" on long summer days, picking wild blackberries and watching for wildlife along the way.  It was about a mile from our home, through our family's fields and pastures, up the dug road to the ridge where there sat an old, broken-down house that once belonged to the Schell family.  My dad had rented the workland for years, and eventually purchased the plot which included the original house and barn dating back to over a century.

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I would often tell my brother that someday I was going to live in that house on the Schell Farm.  For a long time, it was a far-fetched, wild idea, which soon turned into a distant dream when I moved abroad for a few years.  But over time, I made my way back home, and when I did, my parents worked tirelessly to make my childhood dream a reality.  The house was remodeled, a mailbox placed by the road, and my husband and I officially purchased and moved into the house I had always known as the "Schell House."

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Life evolved, we welcomed our children, and soon a vision of something more came into focus.  As our little family business took root and began to blossom, many challenges lay ahead of us.  But naming our little flower farm was not one of them.  I knew all along, that this piece of land was special.  To me, it has always been, and will always be, the "Schell Farm".  I couldn't imagine calling it anything else.  

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Schell Farm Gardens was born.  The name is a tribute to my childhood memories, my parents, and the Schell family-- a family I never knew, but think of fondly. Near the fence line, there is row of aging lilac bushes, planted years and years ago by someone in the Schell family, I presume.  When I cut lilacs in the spring, and am overtaken by their fragrance, I am so thankful that someone nurtured these plants so long ago, so that I could enjoy them today. I am reminded of the power of sharing flowers-- even over the decades.