Our Story

Ginger House Garden was born in July 2016 when as a family we moved from Preston, Lancashire all the way to North Northumberland, taking on two acres of farm land in the process.

To find out more about our story of how we became flower farmers have a read of our blog post ‘Flower farmers in the making…’




June 2012 – My dream is to one day have a garden like the one my grandma grew up in. Though I have never seen it, background glimpses in old photographs and second hand memories are enough to convince me.

In the late 1930’s my grandma and her family moved to Ventnor, a larger house with a garden. They had a lawn, a rockery, greenhouses, a paddling pool and flowers. They kept chickens and geese, and grew vegetables which my great-grandfather would sell to the local shop.

As for me, I borrow a bit of earth to grow vegetables and think up names to one day call my chickens.

October 2016 – If I want to fulfil my potential in this world then my life should not just be about owning something but building something. Four years on since writing the above I have been given the amazing opportunity to do just that. I definitely won’t get it right all the time but I am believing the journey is worth the risk. So here’s to flower farming and living the good life!


If someone had told me when I graduated with a history degree in July 2013 that three years later I would be moving to the country to be a flower farmer I would have wholeheartedly laughed it off as a rather humorous suggestion. However, life sometimes has very different ideas and plans to the ones that you yourself see before you.

After several years in no man’s land I finally feel I have a purpose in this world and an opportunity to give back to this earth. The concept of working the land and belonging to a “place” has taken hold of me. I have an outlet for my creative gifts and the opportunity to be involved in a process from beginning to end.

Mrs M

Chief supporter and cake baker!

The Boy

Never happier than riding his bicycle “the boy” is our go to labourer. He does all the jobs us girls can’t do, so we bribe him daily with homemade cake.