Along with owning a retail and wholesale flowers shop, I have traveled across nationwide just to learn design skills and right procedures how to care and retain the freshness of flowers. Often, people will ask how I came to be involved in this profession. I tell them that my part time job in a flower shop during high school led me to a lifelong love of design as a process, with flowers as my medium. Over the years I have increased my design skills through independent study, by attending classes presented by National designers, and in the daily work experiences of design. As I have increased in skill and change my level of job responsibilities, the oft-repeated story of my beginning interest in flowers and this industry has remained the same.
Recently when speaking before a group, I was asked “the question.” As I began my somewhat memorized spiel about how and why I became a floral designer, of course obviously our place was surrounded with so many kinds of beautiful flowers, but what interest me most was my memories way back childhood. I stumbled over the words about how I made this a career choice as I remembered a voice from my past…
I dearly love my first-grade teacher. She is a dedicated teacher, warm and encouraging.
Lost mid-answer for a moment in the dark recesses of my memory, I saw a wooden shelf with a small pottery vase on it. I remembered placing some fresh garden flowers-maybe small daisies and yellow chrysanthemums-into the vase. I felt myself spill a few drops as I poured in the water. I heard a woman’s voice say. “There, that’s pretty. I think you might arrange flowers when you grow up.” I wondered during my speak with the group if it had been my grandmother’s voice, since she grew flowers in her garden as well, but later I recalled placing flowers in a small glass vase on the corner of the teacher’s desk. I could clearly see the bright, sunny windows of my first-grade room. I vaguely remembered then that she had brought flowers from her yard, and I had enjoyed arranging them in her vases.
This brought to mind the real question. Did she, through her years of experience and wisdom, see a spark of interest and talent? Was I, a child having enjoyed special praise , being influenced toward the area of floral design? Or was it just coincidence that the memory returned as I explained my choice of professions? Apparently, arranging fresh flowers give me pleasure then, as it does now. To have lingered in my memory, my teacher’s notice of that fact must have touched my heart. As to other possible lasting effects, I realized that we as adults need to be ever mindful of the predictions we make to the listening ears of little ones. Sometimes, children live up to our expectations.