I grow my flowers on a small plot of land in Salt Lake County, graciously shared with me by a man named Don. In the early days, I spent countless hours talking about my dream—asking anyone and everyone if they had a little extra space in their yard where I could plant. That first year, I pieced it all together by driving from one home to the next, gathering what I needed like a patchwork quilt of borrowed land.

Then along came Don.

Don is, quite simply, one of the kindest souls on this earth. He offered me space in the backyard of a home he built with his own two hands—a place filled with decades of memories shared with his wife and her children. While he never had children of his own in the traditional sense, he’s raised more hearts than most people ever will.

Most people probably want to know more about the land itself—but to me, the real story is Don. His generosity changed everything and allowed me to grow this small business on soil rooted in community and love. I can’t even set foot on the property without chatting with at least three neighbors. They’ll stop by to pull a few weeds or sit for an afternoon chat with someone they barely know. That kind of community doesn’t just happen—it’s a reflection of who Don is.

If that doesn’t speak to the soul of this farm, I don’t know what does.