I recently met with Sare Harvell, a local florist and owner of Warm Flowers, following their floral feature via the Hirschler Flower Fund at the VMFA. We had a long conversation that stemmed from our mutual appreciation of flowers and their language. I have known Sare for quite some time, but I was hesitant to write this article, given the power of the subject itself.
First off, why flowers? In an age of swiping left and right to manifest the gratification of our most innate desires, it can become difficult to see the need to express our love in such an ancient language. Any time I have brought my love flowers to work they have inevitably been asked what I did wrong. But real men apologize with the modification of their behavior, not perishable gestures.
And we all know that flowers show up in other, more somber episodes of our lives. We have seen the unwelcome yet comforting wreaths we bestow upon those we have lost. Were one to be old enough, they can think on the reverent offering of bouquets to Princess Diana that stacked upon one another to create a chorus of mourning, respect, and love.
There is evidence in Mount Carmel, Israel dating back 11,000 years showing our earliest verifiable graves that we as humans lined with flowers. There have been suggestions that this predates humanity, with flower pollens being found in the graves of Neanderthals, though this is disputed amongst scientists, given the ability of burrowing bees to deposit pollens in these sites.
But there are still more ways to use flowers.
Of course, we use them for weddings. Winning horses are adorned with flowers, the jockeys are given a bouquet. Classically, Olympic medalists are given flowers.
The Buddha, in his enlightenment, is seated upon a lotus flower. The Tudors symbolized their reign of power with a rose. The Polynesians crown themselves with flowers and wear them around their neck as lei. Though most reading this would receive this as a sign of welcome and hospitality, it has meant many things throughout time.
But we don’t always use flowers as signs of respect, or love, or paths to bubble baths.
They can be the backdrop to an office. A way for restaurants to launder money. Or just a nice addition to the family table.
With all that in mind, I got to know a little more about Sare Harvell. Sare worked their way through college in restaurants like so many and found themselves as lost as most once they had fulfilled their familial duty, and it was time to bloom into adulthood. That feeling of loss and the pain of growing that so many of us have led them to buy themselves flowers.
I found this very intriguing, as one can surmise that their path to owning a floral company began from a practice of self-love and care.
Fate brought them to the late Weezie’s kitchen, a name that shall live in infamy. They met the florist Christopher Flowers there. The curiosity that had arisen from their passion got them involved with delivering for the company, and they used what they learned by proxy to start making bouquets in their bedroom.
Wanting to learn more about the business and work with higher volumes and options brought them to L.A., where they interned until they had enough experience to begin. Having learned from the top, they returned to the River City, to create ambiences that last for a moment but often show up in pictures we return to for a lifetime.
This path to the creation reminds me of my favorite flower of the year I see on my daily walk. The neighbor at the corner of my street has as healthy a relationship with flowers as Sare, and the roses they care for spill over their fence, imbuing the autumn air with a peaceful scent. I smell their roses nearly every day, and the side of their house is lined with flowers of a special variety that I have yet to learn, given that their beauty is enough.
All the flowers are incredible, but there is one that grew from the concrete. Unlike its peers, it has grown straight and unbending, having reached full form and splendor in less-than-ideal conditions.
The more I thought about this flower, the more I thought about Sare. It was a seed planted in love, watered by passion. There is a lesson to learn from my favorite flower.
Nature is a patient sculptor.
