Friends, It’s March of 2023 and we have some news…
You may have seen the note on Fruition’s dahlia pages that we have already offered and sold out of a very limited stock of dahlias… and that this will be followed by a pause on sharing dahlia tubers in future years.
While we are SO in love with dahlias, we’ve chosen to focus our time and effort on honing our seed & tree offerings and investing in the evolution of our See(d)ing the Change Project.
There are many sources for dahlia tubers and Hudson Valley Seed Company is a great local option in case you weren’t able to get some from our limited stock this year.
All of Fruition’s dahlia learning content will remain online.
We will continue to offer our Hope is a Verb v.1 Dahlia Seeds cultivated from innumerable crosses between dozens of collarette-style dwarf and semi-dwarf dahlias. Their spectrum of diversity is impressive and we hope you try them out & love them as much as we do!
Thank you for traveling on this dahlia journey with us.
The Whole Fruition Crew
While we were harvesting, washing, trimming and storing dahlias for the last time this past Fall, our dear friend and Fruition’s Retail Lead Maddie, shared this poem with us describing her experience that day. You can read it below or watch it recited above <3
Unearth -ly dawn
Frost and flame survived
To learn – there are winds and springs to come
We cannot weather without rest
One way of calling you home here
A subtle earth-shattering.
Soil turned sudden to schmutz
Clods of sod clung asking mothers
Who remembers what it was to be
Unearth -ed from the mud that made you
Let loose the rocks that shaped your roots
We crisply fed on far before they blessed the blooms
The hills sing light lingers as many hands make work
Make an uneconomic harvest almost holy
Make work a labor of loss
We are all a labor of
We are all a-labor
As each of us is icarus
Even eyes for eyes
Give way to grave
More to lose than the grief one can ever keep
Alive foreboding joy
Remembering what is to lose
Before we’ve even quite let go
The way an ancestor’s smile
Is fogged into a future memory
Not forgotten faces
Recalling all flourishing ways are always
The feeling is
What’s the word?
Lay down gentle
A wandering dream dormant
But allways are not lost
For an era’s end may echo
And even an errant echo too
Is a kind song
Is a kind of song
Is a kind-of song
So who will when remember
Who will remember when the wind
was moved by the way we said