The Story of “Gypsy Girl”

I want to tell you the story of how and why I started a small flower farm named Gypsy Girl Blooms right outside DuPont Forest in the mountains of North Carolina. But, we first need to go back in time to 1989; to the dank halls of Hanes Junior High, where I skulked about with hunched shoulders, too much eyeliner and disdain for the entirety of my teenage puberty experience. Yet, despite feeling horribly unsure and awkward, I somehow had the audacity to dress in a manner which can best be described as “eclectic”.

Thinking back, I’m kind of proud of myself for being brave enough to stick out a little bit even though most days I just wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.

One of my favorite outfits was a long flowy patchwork skirt that I would top with a belt made of little “coins”. I liked that my Step-Mother said I shouldn’t wear it to school because it would be distracting. I liked that it jingled when I walked and I liked that people noticed me when I wore it.

I especially hoped to be noticed by one of my classmates; a “skater boy” with long hair and an alluring amount of “Don’t Care” vibe. Because this is a story about Junior High, I of course avoided speaking directly to “Skater Boy” and sent my friend to deliver the message of my affection....

(And yes, precious little ones, it wasn’t called “Middle School” back then. It was an ancient time when we didn’t have the interwebs or even cell phones. But, regardless of what you call it, I think we can all bridge the generational gap by agreeing that it has been a horrible chapter across all of time for absolutely everyone. Bless us all. We made it through.)

… I don't recall whether it was an hour or a week after my friend shared the news of my crush to “Skater Boy”, but I was desperately pressing her for news about his response. It seemed perhaps as if she was putting it off or avoiding me… but I finally cornered her, “What did he say?!”

“He said…” she shrugged her shoulders, “Gypsy Girl?” She imitated his expression when he said the words “Gypsy Girl” and it looked like he was pretty disgusted actually. It was definitely an “Ewww” face. Ugh. Total rejection. He just knew me by a nickname that made fun of the way I dressed. 

Weird. Different. Rejected.

This was just one of so many moments during those awkward years of puberty which embodied why it’s so hard… but over the years I’ve started to use the term “Gypsy Girl” with affection. I call myself “Gypsy Girl” to lovingly refer to that brave, wild authentic flame within.

So, when I hatched the idea to have a flower farm that would be a vehicle to empower, delight and inspire women; I knew instantly what its name would be.

Gypsy Girl.

~ Misunderstood.

~ Outcast.

Oh, but also…

~ Empowered.

~ Wild.

~ Free.

Gypsy Girl Blooms.

So, the inspiration and intention with my little flower farm, Gypsy Girl Blooms is simple; to offer beauty and hope to the parts within all of us that have been rejected and disappointed. And, to honor that little flame within all of us that refuses to be stamped out.

Because looking into the face of a flower is a little like spending a moment with God and receiving whatever it is that we need, don’t you think?

So, here’s to the Gypsy Girl within each one of us.

Bloom, Sister, Bloom!