Violet
“Life is too short for bad coffee.”
The Flowerpot Café has been open for a couple of years now, and I still feel surprised every morning when people walk through the door. I don’t know if that feeling will ever go away. The quiet surprise that this place exists, that it is mine, and that people like what I have built.
When I had the idea, I knew I wanted everything to feel intentional. I never wanted it to feel like I just threw it together to have it flop.
I wanted to support a local coffee roaster, so I spent weeks researching, tasting, and comparing notes like I was back in school doing a science experiment. Thankfully, I need caffeine multiple times a day to function, so all that tasting was beneficial to my health and the well-being of others around me. I studied interior design at college, and this space feels like the most personal project I’ve ever worked on.
There are wooden flower boxes that line the front windows, overflowing with seasonal blooms. Hanging baskets sway withthe wind above the entrance, and a small chalkboard sign rests right beside the door. I usually write an uplifting message every morning followed by a featured coffee beverage.
“Life is too short for bad coffee”is written on the sign, followed by the coffee of the day,“Lavender Daydream Latte.”
It feels less like a business and more like home, something I built that makes me happy. Warm, bright, and alive.
When I was designing the café, I wanted to bring aspects of my childhood into it. Growing up on a flower farm, mornings smelled like damp earth and lavender, and my summers were spent barefoot between rows of blossoms that were taller than me. I learned early on that flowers could change a space, soften a mood, and even make people linger a little longer. The café became my way of recreating that feeling.
Fresh flowers sit at every table, clipped from my parents’ flower farm, Wildflower Grove. Dried bundles hang from exposed beams overhead. Eucalyptus and fern on shelves with old pictures of the town. I have different color palettes, whites, pastels and muted greens, which reminds me of a greenhouse.
Main Street in Lavender Creek spans only a few blocks, but every business feels like it belongs. The Flowerpot Café is halfway down the street, tucked between the town’s beloved diner and a small gift shop that sells handmade soaps, jewelry, and some knick-knacks, along with some postcards that probably never get mailed out.
The diner, Willow Creek Diner, has been there for as long as I can remember. My parents used to go there on dates when they first moved here. Maggie is the owner now. Before that, it was her mom. That’s the thing about small towns: the family businesses are passed down, and everything has meaning and value.
The red vinyl booths and glowing neon open sign in the diner window make it impossible to miss. The scent of bacon and fried potatoes spills onto the sidewalk every morning.
Lavender Creek, British Columbia is small. Small in the kind of way where there’s one main street, a handful of stoplights, and everyone knows when someone new pulls into town.
Blink, and you’ll miss it.
Living in western Canada is beautiful though, surrounded by mountains and ocean.
Most of my customers are locals, the same friendly faces every morning, but in the summer and early fall, tourists start coming in. People from Calgary and the surrounding areas who want fresh air, water views, and the illusion of slowing down for a weekend.
Before the grand opening, I barely slept. I was convinced no one would show up, that people would think opening a coffee shop here was silly or unnecessary. But not having one never made sense to me. This town needed a place to gather, to linger, sit, and talk without rushing somewhere else.
So, I took the risk.
I have always been a risk taker, always chasing something, some new hobby, a new dream, or love. Not everything has turned out for me, but this coffee shop has.
Now here I am, unlocking the front door, setting out chairs, and greeting the first customers of the day like it’s always been this way.
“Ding!” The oven timer goes off. Brie comes out of the kitchen. As she opens the door, she looks at me.
“These are going to last a whole ten minutes once we open,” she says as she takes out the freshly baked cinnamon rolls. I hired Brie as soon as I got the building for the café. She is the baker and does one hell of a job.
We went to high school together and always kept in contact. She was known as the self-taught baker here in Lavender Creek. She would have a booth at the farmers’ market every Saturday. When I brought up the idea of her working for me, it felt like a match made in heaven.
Maddie is my barista. She usually does the closing shifts. She’s really bubbly and loves talking to people. She remembers everyone’s name and their orders, even small details about their lives. She is the glue that holds this place together. She went to school with my younger sisters, Rose and Daphne.
Once word got out that I was opening a coffee shop, she came up to me and asked me for a job.
A light knock at the front door sounds, and as I turn around, my other sister, Lily, is standing outside waving like she doesn’t come here every morning.
Lily teaches in the town over. She always stops here on her way to work, even if we aren’t officially open. It’s one of the many perks of having a sister who owns a café.
I unlock the door and let her in, locking it behind her. We still have another thirty minutes before opening, and I look forward to the time we have together before the busy day starts.
“Hey, Lil,” I say, giving her a hug. “How are you?”
