By Gillies Robertson
It was the kind of Monday morning that feels like a beginning. After a weekend of rain and an especially long winter, driving through the mountains and fields along the Gazelle-Callahan road felt like passing through a landscape just waking up: yawning, stretching, and shimmering under the new season’s sun. The hillsides glowed with green, and the scent of wet grass rose sweet and sharp in the air. There wasn’t much movement, except for the occasional vehicle coming the other way, a rancher’s dog chasing the length of a fence line, and a golden eagle I flushed from its roadside breakfast—only for it to return the moment I passed, as if I were no more than a minor interruption. Out in the Shasta Valley, before the climb to the crest of this ridiculously scenic highway, ranchers were readying their fields for another irrigation season, and the steady hum of I-5 carried the background rhythm of life. But as I arrived in the tiny town of Callahan, I got the impression that its collective alarm clock wouldn’t be going off for at least another couple of hours. With a population somewhere between 150 and 200, give or take a few ranch hands and dogs with voting rights, Callahan appears to keep its own pace. After a beautiful drive and only one U-turn, I reached my destination, greeted first by two cautious but friendly dogs, and then by our host for the morning’s visit.
Under the broad shadow of Mount Bolivar, still dusted with snow and etched with wildfire scars, something entirely unexpected is taking root. Amid an agricultural landscape shaped by cattle and hay, Annie and Brent Hilton are building a different kind of legacy: a sea of peonies, row upon row, spilling away from their beautiful barn-like home and seeming to climb right into the rugged sides of the mountain. California Peony Company is a story of vision and stubborn belief, the kind of belief that carries people across years of labor, learning, and long odds. It’s a story of taking limited resources and, through creativity and grit, growing something that doesn’t just survive, but thrives. It’s a story about how, even in the rugged corners of Northern California, a new kind of agriculture can bloom.
Annie and Brent started their farm by growing and selling cut flowers at local farmers markets, one bouquet at a time. It was a side venture, a passion project for their evenings and weekends, and a way to bring a little more beauty into their lives and community. From the beginning, however, something larger was stirring beneath the surface—a vision for what could be. They saw opportunity where others might have seen only risk: to take on a specialty crop that few (if any) in the region had attempted: to invest in a business model unfamiliar to their neighbors; and to commit, fully and bravely, to the long horizon.
Peonies are not an easy crop. They demand patience, precision, and trust in slow growth. It takes around three years before each plant reaches full production. Infrastructure must be laid carefully, the flower beds must be prepared properly, and labor demands, although seasonal in nature, are nonetheless high. In 2019, they made the leap, rallying a large “volunteer crew” of friends and family to help them plant their first major fields. Following a precise planting plan to maximize long-term success, the work was both backbreaking and exciting—rows of delicate roots tucked into the soil beneath a wide Northern California sky, with no guarantees and everything to hope for.
From the start, Annie and Brent approached their farm with a spirit of resourcefulness. With limited local knowledge of peony farming, they built a network stretching far beyond the Scott Valley, reaching out to growers from Alaska, the East Coast, and even the Netherlands. In these connections, they found both technical advice and camaraderie.
Leaning on their far-flung network of support was a great way to gain deep-rooted insights into the peony industry and the growing requirements of this widely loved flower. However, with no one familiar with the climate and geography of remote Northern California, much had to be learned through trial and error. Like most farmers and ranchers, they came to know their own landscape and weather intimately, paying close attention to every shift and pattern. They devised systems for weed control and disease prevention, adapting their methods to the unique microclimate. They researched the plant’s required chilling hours and carefully monitored the health of their fields to ensure strong dormant seasons. Every success was hard-won; every failure, a lesson banked for the next year.
Their business model evolved, too. Early on, they experimented with direct-to-consumer shipping, inspired by local meat producers who had pioneered methods for small-scale, nationwide logistics. For a time, they packed and boxed flowers, mailing them across the country and bringing a little piece of Callahan to distant homes. But fulfilling relatively small orders proved too burdensome. After a couple of seasons, they pivoted and decided to try something bigger. They shifted to a direct-to-wholesale model, cutting their peony stems for large-scale distributors who could move their product nationally. To meet the demands of these buyers, precision is everything. Flowers must be cut at just the right stage—buds tight, stems a perfect length—and immediately chilled in their solar-powered, on-farm refrigerated unit. Timing is critical; wholesalers need blooms to open exactly on schedule for weddings, events, and holidays. And even though things don’t always go to plan once the flowers leave the farm, Annie and Brent, along with their two tractor-driving twin teenage sons Wyatt and Finn, work hard to ensure that everything within their control is executed with near perfection.
Managing that kind of logistical goat rodeo takes more than good farming. It takes sharp operations. Annie and Brent don’t just grow flowers; they’ve built systems to move them smoothly from field to hand, from rural highways to city-center shopping malls.
Driving up to their fields, it’s easy to forget, for a moment, that you’re still in the heart of ranch country: irrigation ditches, wide pastures, and cattle grazing lazily against the backdrop of the Marble Mountains. But then the peony fields come into view—neat rows, green and thriving, a different kind of agriculture quietly asserting itself.
Their sons, Annie laughs, are a little embarrassed to be known as “flower farmers” in a valley full of cowboys and cattlemen. It’s a running family joke, but it touches on something real: how bold it is, in a place steeped in ranching history, to choose another path. And not just any path, but a slow-growing, high-labor, high-risk crop that demands patience and a long view. A farm where the payoff for today’s work might not be seen for years. A farm where, as Annie says while standing among six-year-old plants, “These peonies will mostly outlive us.”
That, too, is part of the magic. In a landscape often shaped by cycles of boom and bust, California Peony Company is being built—and continues to grow—as something designed to endure.
Innovation didn’t mean doing it alone. Annie and Brent understood early on that success would depend on relationships: with advisors overseas, with fellow growers across the U.S., and with each other. They developed close friendships with international growers, exchanging notes on everything from soil management to harvest timing. Their willingness to ask for help, share information, and stay humble in the face of steep learning curves is one of their greatest strengths, and is one that comes through easily as Annie shares their story.
Even among peony growers, Annie notes with a smile, there are different ways of saying “peony”, a small reminder of how far-flung, and yet close-knit, their community has become. Here at home, their connections were just as critical. When labor was scarce, they leaned on neighbors and friends. When pests threatened, they tapped local experts and regional ag advisors. They absorbed lessons from others, even those in entirely different agricultural systems, and adapted them creatively to their needs. Annie and Brent’s success wasn’t built in isolation. It grew from countless conversations, shared lessons, and the quiet power of a community willing to help one another figure things out.
Even as they stabilized their core business—wholesale flower production—Annie and Brent continued dreaming forward. They began diversifying their revenue streams, adding rootstock sales to serve gardeners and smaller growers. They started groundwork on a permanent farm-stand structure that will welcome visitors and facilitate on-farm sales during peak bloom. And they envisioned a visitor’s garden, a place where locals and tourists alike could wander among the flowers and enjoy being on the farm during the short window when the fields are ablaze with both color and activity. The future of California Peony Company isn’t just about production; it’s about place-making—creating a lasting anchor for community life, tourism, and regional identity.
Standing among the rows, the spring sun warming the soil, it’s easy to see why they did it, and why they stayed the course even when it was hard. Green stems sway gently in the breeze, buds tightly wound, holding the promise of an explosion of color. There is a patience built into the place, a kind of faith that slow work matters. That perhaps beauty and reward are worth waiting for. That a kind of agriculture different from what surrounds them, built with care and creativity, can thrive even where the odds are long.
What Annie and Brent have built at California Peony Company isn’t just a flower farm. It’s a reminder that new things can grow, and even thrive, in old places. That innovation doesn’t mean leaving the land behind, but looking at it differently and opening up to its potential. And that with care, courage, and community, even a sleepy town at the tail end of a sleepy valley can surprise you, not by changing overnight, but by choosing to grow, one season at a time.
