A Walk For Peace

This past Sunday, I did something a little out of character to kick off my birthday week.

Instead of easing into a slow, sleepy Sunday or heading to church like we often do, I looked at my husband and said, “I really want to get in the van and drive to Richmond.” To his credit, he didn’t ask too many questions, just agreed to the adventure. And so we loaded up the kids and headed two hours down the road for something that felt important in a way I couldn’t quite explain at the time.

For months, I’d been quietly following the monks’ peace walk across America. Since October, they’ve been walking step-by-step for peace and unity. When I realized they were finally close enough for us to witness in person, I felt pulled. Compelled. Like missing it would be something I’d regret for a long time.

So we all went to see this walk together as a family to be a part of something bigger ourselves.

When we arrived, the experience felt surreal almost immediately. Street corners filled with folks of all ages: young kids, elderly couples, teenagers, parents holding babies, people from every walk of life were standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting together. There was excitement in the air, but also something quieter. A shared understanding that we were all there for a reason.

My kids were practically buzzing with anticipation, but as I looked around, I realized it wasn’t just them. Every child was giddy. And so were the adults! It wasn’t loud or chaotic at all. It was actually pretty quiet and very unified.

Then they came.

The monks appeared down the road, walking single file. They carried more than I expected in their modest arms for such a long and demanding journey. Their faces were solemn but warm, peaceful but present. There was humility in every step they took—and a deep sense of humanity that felt impossible to ignore.

And then I noticed it.

Flowers.

Everywhere.

I don’t know how I missed them at first, but suddenly it was all I could see. Bouquets, single stems, handfuls of blooms being passed freely from strangers to monks, from monks back to the crowd. Smiles spreading as flowers changed hands. Not bought. Not sold. Simply offered and received.

And it went both ways.

The monks gave flowers. The crowd gave flowers. People who had never met exchanged something living, beautiful, and fleeting as a way to say: I see you. I’m with you. I hope for something better too.

Flowers were the currency, but they carried far more than petals and stems. They carried hope. Kindness. Love. Unity. They were tangible symbols of something we all needed but didn’t have words for.

On the drive home, I thought about that a lot.

About how often we think of flowers as “extra” or decorative, when in reality they’ve always been part of our most meaningful human moments. They show up when words fail. They soften hard edges. They connect us to each other.

I’m so grateful we went. Grateful we witnessed it together as a family. Grateful my kids saw flowers used not as an accessory, but as a language. I know that memory will stay with them, and with me, for a long time.

Back on the farm this week, as we move through our crops and care for what’s growing, I’ve been holding that moment close. It’s a reminder of why we do what we do here at Harmony Harvest. Why we grow what we grow. Why flowers matter, especially now.

Sometimes the most powerful things are the simplest. A stem in your hand. A gesture of care. A quiet offering of beauty. And sometimes, without even realizing it, flowers help us remember who we’re trying to be.

XOXO, Jess