As the garden at Asher + Rye Café has continued to grow, flowers have quietly become part of the rhythm of the space itself. What began as a few arrangements for the shop turned into a week of experimenting with florals, vessels, texture, and color — and, unexpectedly, a new creative ritual for Joel.
Joel Snayd in the Asher + Rye garden
A few weeks ago, I accidentally became the flower guy.
It started innocently enough. We had flowers in the shop, and I began playing around with arranging them between customers, coffees, and watering plants in the courtyard. One arrangement became another, and suddenly I found myself fully invested in floral frogs, branch placement, and whether or not hydrangeas were getting enough water.
I’ve always loved gardens and natural materials, but flowers felt different. Less structured. Less permanent. There’s something about floral arranging that feels a little more instinctive — like cooking without a recipe.
I found myself really inspired by the loose, gathered arrangements you see throughout Provence. Nothing too polished or overly sculpted. Flowers spilling outward naturally, branches bending the way they want to bend, arrangements that look like they came from a morning walk through the garden rather than a formal event.
That became the goal.
Not perfection. Just something alive.
Joel planting in the Asher + Rye Garden
One thing I learned quickly is that the vessel matters almost as much as the flowers themselves. Small bud vases feel best with airy stems like daisies or baby’s breath, while fuller flowers need space to spread out and enough water to actually survive. Hydrangeas, specifically, are incredibly dramatic. Give them shallow water for an hour, and they completely collapse on you.
I also became mildly obsessed with vintage floral frogs. These are small metal tools that help hold stems in place while still allowing arrangements to feel loose and organic. There’s something really satisfying about them. They give structure without making things feel rigid.
And good shears matter. A lot.
But honestly, the biggest takeaway had less to do with flowers themselves and more to do with what they do to a space.
There’s something about walking into a room with fresh flowers that immediately softens it. People slow down around them. They linger longer. The café already has this garden energy to it now—plants climbing everywhere, shaded corners, herbs, layered greenery—and the flowers started feeling like an extension of that atmosphere.
Joel's photo of the Asher + Rye Garden 2026
Over time, this little corner at Jones and Whitaker has become far greener than we ever imagined. What started as a few plants slowly evolved into an urban garden in the middle of the city. I pull over on the side of the road for plants now. I think about shade patterns and pollinators and hummingbirds more than I probably should.
The flowers somehow became part of that same story.
Not overly designed. Not too precious. Just thoughtful, seasonal, imperfect, and alive.
I think people are craving that right now. More softness. More texture. More living things. More spaces that feel human.
And maybe that’s why I enjoyed the process so much.
In a world where everything moves quickly, arranging flowers felt like permission to slow down and pay attention for a while. One stem at a time.
