I keep thinking I need the perfect name right away. Something clever, something polished. But the truth is… I have to find the roots first.

I’m asking myself: What inspires me? How am I going to authentically show up as myself? How do I want people to feel when they come across my work? I notice that every time I jot notes in the back pocket of my notebook, the same little things keep showing up: authentic, creative, home, the farm, Lainey Wilson’s authenticity, me. None of them are names — but they are the roots of what I’m about to grow.

It’s hitting me that a name isn’t the start — it’s the sprout. The roots come first. The unseen parts: values, feelings, the story under the surface. That’s the seed I already carry. Without those roots, a name is just decoration.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but those messy little words I keep rereading while sipping tea are the compass. They anchor everything. They remind me that the right name will sprout, bloom, and flourish only when the soil feels steady.

Roots hold steady before branches bloom. 

I know my roots, I give myself permission to get messy.

I no longer am waiting for “the one” perfect name to appear, I just started scribbling. Pages of half-thoughts, words that make no sense, ideas I know I’ll never use. Some come from songs on the radio, others from the smell of the barn, or the way the prairie sky looks at sunset. A few ... are plain awful!!!!! — but still, I keep writing them down.

The more I scribble, the more I see little patterns begin to appear. Words start repeating. Feelings show up again and again. Even the bad ideas teach me something about what I don’t want (HA!) — which feels just as important as figuring out what I do.

A name doesn’t always arrive in a single spark. Sometimes it grows out of a pile of messy notes, one little word at a time. Don't let me forget the million messages and phone calls to friends to test out how a name rings when spoken. 

Not every scribble sticks, but every one adds to the soil.

I was day dreaming today while riding Cypress. I kept thinking about what I am creating. This feeling I get when I ride must be pulled through everything. I came home to open up this journal. The scribbles are piling up, and I found myself circling a few words that feel closer, closer to that feeling when I'm riding. Where I am me. But before I will let myself fall in love, I remind myself to check the trail markers.. just like on our ride.

Im saying the names out loud. I am writing them down a few times, imagining them on a sign, on a website, or spoken in conversation. Do they still feel steady like my mount, when I see them outside of my notebook?

Now I am needing to check the basics:
– Is it easy to say and spell?
– Does someone else already use it?
– Will it still fit if my business grows in a new direction?

It’s not the fun part — but I know it matters. Trail markers keep me from wandering too far in the wrong direction and always help bring me back home.

Because the right name isn’t just pretty on paper. It has to carry me forward, step by step, and point me toward the horizon I’m building.

Clear markers keep me steady on the trail.

 -Thanks for the ride Cyp. 

The words keep circling, but today it clicks.

I’m sitting out in the pasture, watching the horses graze, the dogs stretched out beside me. The field rolls wide and quiet, the sky bigger than anything I could ever fit into a notebook. This is my happy place — the space where I feel most like myself, steady and unapologetic.

And it’s here that the name finally settles in. Floral Frontier. It feels like it’s been waiting for me.

I whisper it out loud. I see it stretched across the top of a page. I picture it on a sign, a website, a little card tucked into someone’s hand. It doesn’t feel forced or fancy — it just feels like home. Like the extension of who I am and where I belong.

That’s when I realize naming isn’t only about words. It’s about the moment they fit. The way they sit steady in your gut, the way they carry the same truth as the place you love most.

Floral Frontier was born in the pasture. In my happy place. Where I can show up, always, as unapologetically me.

 Kate 

         Xx