Sunflower Lessons From The Loft Orchard

It’s Just Weather Baby

By: Cassie Higgins

The other day Mark and I were out running errands and stopped at Meijer. We were walking in when Mark paused for half a second and looked over toward the flower section.

But the funny part is… by the time HE noticed the sunflowers, I was already mentally loading them into the cart. 😂

The second I saw them I was like: “Oh absolutely not. We’re getting TWO.”

Which is exactly how Sunny and Sher entered our lives.

Obviously.

And honestly? They were magnificent.

Bright yellow faces turned toward the sun like they knew something we didn’t yet. Huge blooms. Strong stems. Fourteen little blooms already preparing underneath like tiny future versions of themselves waiting their turn.

I loved them immediately.

So we’re walking through the store carrying Sunny and Sher like proud weirdos when we run into someone Mark works with. And somehow — despite nobody saying a word about the flowers — he instantly locks onto them and goes: “Why didn’t you go to a Ruhligs?”

And I don’t know why that hit me the way it did, but instantly my brain went: “Ohhhh. That’s interesting.”

Because the implication was: Meijer flowers somehow meant “less.” Less valuable. Less meaningful. Less legitimate.

And I actually caught myself editing my response in real time, which has become fascinating lately. Because internally? My first response was WAY less polished. 😂

But instead I said: “When nature speaks to you, you don’t ignore it simply because of the place it’s sitting.”

And honestly? I swear Mark stood taller after that. And somehow Sunny and Sher did too. 😂

So we brought them home and set them outside.

And for two glorious southeast Michigan spring days they absolutely THRIVED.

Sunny. Warm. Bright. Blue skies. Perfect breeze.

They stood out there fully radiant while Mark and I kept randomly staring at them like: “Look at our sunflowers.” As if we personally grew them from seed ourselves. 😂

And then Michigan did what Michigan always does.

It switched personalities overnight.

One day eighty five and sunny. The next day forty degrees with wind that feels emotionally targeted.

When I woke up the next morning, Sunny and Sher looked exhausted.

Wilted. Shriveled. Heavy.

Like the weather had written itself directly onto their bodies overnight.

The kids helped me bring them inside and water them. They perked back up some, but not fully. They still looked like they’d been through something hard.

And honestly? At first I felt bad.

I started kicking myself: “Why didn’t I bring them in?” “They shouldn’t look like this.” “I should’ve protected them better.”

But then I had this realization:

In nature… living things are not vibrant every single day.

Some days the weather shows.

And that thought hit me HARD.

Because humans spend so much time pretending the weather ISN’T showing on us.

We expect ourselves to remain: productive, pleasant, emotionally regulated, high performing, motivated, beautiful, energetic, and blooming all the time.

And when we visibly wilt under pressure, stress, grief, overload, anxiety, burnout, conflict, exhaustion, or environmental strain… we act like something is wrong with us.

Meanwhile the sunflower is just sitting there like: “Yeah dude. It got cold. I’m recovering.” 😂

And somehow nature allows that without shame.

The longer I work inside the Loft Orchard, the more I realize: the orchard is not teaching us about plants.

It’s teaching us THROUGH plants.

That distinction matters enormously.

Because Sunny and Sher just taught me one of the most overlooked truths about life:

We are not separate from life observing it from the outside.

We ARE the life that’s living.

The plants signal. The body signals. The nervous system signals. Children signal. Relationships signal. Communities signal.

And maybe visible wear is not failure.

Maybe it’s communication.

Maybe some days the weather is simply visible on us.

And maybe instead of shaming every wilted version of ourselves or other people… we should become more interested in understanding what conditions created it in the first place.

That’s what the Loft Orchard keeps revealing to me over and over again.

Not gardening.

Observation. Embodiment. Pattern recognition. Relationship. Systems.

And the realization that life has been trying to teach us things this entire time — through EVERYTHING — if we’re willing to actually watch.