Provenance Is Your Power: How to Share the True Story Behind Your Flowers Without Dressing It Up

"Your Dad would be so pleased to know that this is what happened with his land."

I looked up from my market stall at Kathleen, the previous owner of our property. She was telling her grown-up daughters visiting for the weekend about what we'd created at The Pickery, how her husband Jim would have been thrilled to see the old deer paddock put to productive use again.

That moment gave me goosebumps.

Here was this woman, connecting our flowers not just to beauty or freshness, but to her family's story, to Jim's care for the land, to their family history we're now part of.

Listening to Kathleen made me realise the power of connection between the land, the flowers, and local history. Suddenly our flowers meant something beyond just being pretty or grown locally.

That’s provenance — heritage most of us are sitting on, but rarely share, because we assume it won’t matter.

In this post, you'll learn:

• Why provenance matters in the artisan flower world

• What customers actually want to know about where their flowers come from

• How to share your story simply, without overthinking it

• Practical ways to talk about your flowers that feel true and empowering

What Provenance Actually Means for Flower Growers

In a global floral industry dominated by anonymous supply chains, provenance is how we bring meaning back to flowers. It's the thread that connects your blooms to your land, your climate, your craft, your values, your story.

Locally grown flowers aren't just fresher. They're expressions of a landscape, a season, and a human being who chose this life.

For artisan growers, provenance isn't marketing hype—it's heritage. It's responsibility. It's professional pride.

And here's what I've learnt from conversations with hundreds of growers: you all have these stories. The land that was someone's grandmother's garden. The career you left behind. The climate challenge you learnt to work with. The neighbour who taught you to grow dahlias. The frost that nearly wiped you out but taught you everything.

You have the stories. You just don't share them because they feel too ordinary, too personal, or too imperfect to count for anything.

Why We Stay Silent About Our Stories

I'll be honest: even after Kathleen's comment, I still hesitate before sharing the Jim and Kathleen story. It feels... presumptuous? Like I'm claiming something that isn't mine to claim? They owned this land for decades. Who am I to weave their history into my flowers?

But here's what I've noticed watching growers at markets, reading their social posts, listening to how they talk about their farms: most of us default to the safe, generic version of our story rather than risk the specific, vulnerable truth.

We say "locally grown" and leave it at that. We mention "seasonal flowers" without explaining which season or why it matters. We describe ourselves as "small-scale" without sharing what brought us to this work.

The specific version can feel too ordinary. Too personal. As if we’re assuming people care about details they may not.

A grower at our recent FBA members meet up shared their nervousness about talking about provenance. She had a beautiful backstory - but told me she felt like a marketing cliche. She wanted to share more but didn’t know how to make it sound truthful and worthy enough.

Here's what I wish I'd told her then: truthful provenance doesn’t need dressing up.

What Happens When You Share the Specific Truth

When I tell customers our flowers grew in what used to be Jim's deer paddock on the summit of Kaitoke Hill—near those twin-lake reservoirs you can see from the road—suddenly people PLACE us.

"Oh, I know exactly where you are!"

They've driven past that property. They know the wind up there. They understand we are based in Upper Hutt. They're making conscious connections between flowers and place.

When I mention our proteas come from Beth — a veteran grower of South African natives on the Kāpiti Coast — customers start asking questions. The sandy soil there suits proteas perfectly, and people want to know why

They want to know about Beth. They want to know why proteas grow there and not here. They want to understand the land.

That detail transforms everything. The flowers stop being a generic "locally grown product" and become something specific: flowers from the summit near the lakes, grown by someone they're getting to know, shaped by conditions they recognise.

That's what provenance does. It turns flowers from nowhere into flowers from somewhere.

What Customers Actually Want to Know

When customers ask about your flowers, they're not testing your knowledge or expecting a perfect elevator pitch. They're genuinely curious about simple things:

Where were these flowers actually grown? Not just "locally"—but where specifically? What's special or challenging about that place?

Who grew them and why? What brought you to this work? What keeps you doing it?

What makes them grow well here? What about your land or climate shapes these particular flowers?

What's happening in your patch right now? What's the season doing to you this week?

They're not looking for poetry or expert botanical knowledge. They just want the flowers to feel like they come from somewhere real, grown by someone they're getting to know.

Katy grows cut flowers in the windswept Manawatu. For months, she posted careful captions about "locally grown seasonal blooms." Professional. Safe. Forgettable.

Then one week she was too tired to overthink it and wrote: "Nor'wester nearly flattened everything yesterday—these are the survivors. Still beautiful, just a bit weathered like the rest of us."

That post got more comments and likes. 

Suddenly Katy’s flowers weren't just pretty things—they were part of the mighty Manawatu weather, place, and reflects the struggle and resilience needed to grow flowers there.

That's provenance. And it doesn't need dressing up.

A Simple Framework You Can Use This Week

You don't need a content strategy or a brand voice or perfect photography to share your provenance. You just need to share one true thing.

Start with one detail about your land:

"This used to be my grandfather's vegetable garden." "Cold nights on the summit give these tulips their colour." "Heavy clay soil—the dahlias hate it but the thistles thrive."

Simple. Specific. Enough.

Add one line about your story:

"I started growing flowers because I needed work that changed with seasons instead of spreadsheets." "This patch was Jim's deer paddock before we turned it over to flowers." "Been learning to work with this coastal wind for three years now."

That instantly turns flowers into a story.

Share what's happening right now:

"Cold slowed everything down—these were meant to be ready last week." "Unexpected rain and the campanula went mental." "Picked at dawn before the nor'wester hit this afternoon."

Now your flowers feel alive — shaped by the same weather your customers just lived through

If you buy from other growers, name them:

"These proteas are from Beth on the Kapiti Coast—the sandy soil there is perfect for South African natives."

"We don’t grow roses so we buy-in from Van Lier in Auckland, a third-generation family business. They are all about growing using the most eco-friendly methods to grow under cover all year-round. Such as,  watering with rain collected from their roof and heating with hot water pipes."

Transparency builds trust. And it positions you as part of an industry, not just a solo operator.

Write like you're texting a flower friend:

Just: "Look at this colour—thank last night's frost!"

Your voice is part of your provenance too.

Why Your Backstory Matters More Than You Think

Here's something that might surprise you: many customers see flower farming as living a dream. They admire the courage it takes to build a life around land, season, and creativity. They long for the meaning and connection you live with every day.

You might see yourself as just muddling through, learning as you go, dealing with yet another aphid outbreak or pricing dilemma or weather disaster.

But to someone who spends their days in an office or managing other people's priorities or feeling disconnected from seasons and soil, what you're doing is remarkable.

Your backstory—why you chose this path—isn't self-indulgent. It's part of understanding why these specific flowers exist.

I turned my gardening habit into a job that I love. It was at a time when I was disillusioned with the corporate coaching work and growing flowers made much more sense that boardroom politics.

That's not irrelevant to the flowers I sell—it's part of why they exist at all, why I care about them the way I do, why I choose beauty and seasonality over efficiency and scale.

One sentence is often enough:

"I started growing flowers because I wanted a life shaped by beauty and seasons rather than meetings and deadlines."

That one truth tells customers something about every stem in the bucket. It explains choices you make that might otherwise seem strange—why you don't grow year-round, why you close for winter, why you focus on varieties that thrive here rather than fighting your conditions.

The Permission You Didn't Know You Needed

After hearing Kathleen talk about Jim, I asked her if she’d mind me telling this story. She was thrilled, Jim loved the land and although he passed away before The Pickery was born, he would have been so interested to see it full of flowers. 

The more I dig into my own backstory, the deeper the stories I see in other flower farmers. Stories about their land in their families, building a business in a rural community, about showing their children that nature is precious.

When you share provenance, even imperfectly: your flowers stop being anonymous. They become part of a story people are not just interested in, they want to follow.

Your land has a history. Your flowers have a journey from soil to vase. You have a reason for doing this work.

Those aren't irrelevant details to leave out when you talk about your business. They're the whole point.

What Changes When You Claim Your Provenance

Your flowers stop being a commodity. They become part of a place. Part of a season. Part of a story. Part of you.

Customers stop seeing "a bouquet" and start seeing:

• A landscape they recognise or want to know

• Weather they lived through too

• A person they're learning to trust

• A dream being lived in real time.

When you share provenance honestly—without overthinking it, without making it perfect—you give your flowers roots. And roots are what customers remember.

They remember the grower on the windy hillside whose nor'wester stories made them laugh.

They remember the flowers from Jim's old deer paddock that someone loved enough to transform.

They remember you, not as a brand or a business, but as a real person growing real flowers in a real place.

That's the power of provenance. It's not about being impressive or polished or strategic.

It's about being true.

Over to you —Your One Small Step to Telling Your Story

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with the idea of telling your story. So start with one simple first step.

Share one true thing with your flower friends—on social media, on a market sign, in conversation with a customer:

• One sentence about your land's history or character

• One sentence about why you started growing flowers

• One observation from this week's weather

• The name of another grower you buy from and why you trust them

• One moment this season that surprised or challenged you.

Not content. Not marketing. A story.

Because your provenance is the strongest story there is.

What's the story you're sitting on? Is there something about your land, your journey to flowers, or your growing conditions that you haven't shared because it felt too ordinary? Sometimes the stories we think are most mundane are the ones that resonate most deeply with customers.

Written by: Julie Treanor - Owner of The Pickery and co-creator of The Floral Business Activator.  Still thinking about my 'Kathleen moment' and the power of claiming stories of our provenance. 

Follow Julie on Instagram @thepickery