I was very excited to hear about the 2025 Southern Oregon Lavender Festival, which takes place in summer over two weekends: once in June and once in July. It was the perfect excuse for me to continue exploring this beautiful region. Spending a lovely, sunny July day driving around the Applegate with my dog, Herbie, and visiting friendly, family-run lavender farms sounded just about perfect to me.
Lavender, of all things. As a child, I detested it. The camphorous smell overwhelmed my senses, and I avoided it at all costs.
Then, one day, in my early twenties, everything changed.
I had recently arrived in Paris and was working at a steak house on the Champs Elysees. I had a job but nowhere to live. Youth hostels were an affordable temporary solution, but in the City of Lights, hostel stays were limited to three nights. For weeks, I moved every few days, lugging my heavy 12-string guitar and suitcases through the streets and on the metro—all while holding down a full-time job. One day, I ran out of options.
Miraculously, a “chambre de bonne” (literally, maid’s room) became available. An acquaintance of mine, connected with the Cité Internationale Universitaire, had put in a good word for me with student housing. The only hitch was that the room wasn’t available until the next day. But he had a solution for that too: that night, I could stay with a friend of his.
Whatever misgivings I might have had under normal circumstances, I squelched. I took him up on his offer. It was a good thing I did.
I entered his friend’s small but uncluttered apartment and felt the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. Soft pastels, natural wood and “something in the air” that I didn’t stop to analyze. My host led the way to the kitchen for a quiet, friendly meal and then, off to bed.
The next morning, I awoke feeling truly rested for the first time in ages. That’s when I noticed that a subtle aroma permeated the room. In that moment, lavender became inextricably linked in my mind to relaxation, community, and kindness. It is anchored there forever.
Lavender, of all things. As a child, I detested it. The camphorous smell overwhelmed my senses, and I avoided it at all costs.
I never saw my acquaintance nor his friend again. I don’t remember their names. I barely remember their faces. But I do remember the lavender.
Now I enjoy lavender in all of its forms. Pollinator gardens, aromatic sachets and essential oils, decorative bundles, natural cleaning products, cosmetics, there is so much to love.
In recent years, I’ve come to appreciate its many culinary applications as well. I never miss an opportunity to try out new lavender flavored foods.
Much as I would have liked to, I couldn’t comfortably visit all the farms on the trail in one day. I finally settled on four. I’d drive out to the farthest one and work my way home.
Before setting out, I called ahead to confirm dog-friendliness. Expecting resistance, I instead found acceptance at all four locations. As long as he was leashed, there was no problem. We were onto a good thing.
Goodwin Creek Gardens
First stop: Williams, OR. Of all the sites I visited that day, atmospherically, Goodwin Creek Gardens was the most reminiscent of my Parisian experience. It seems incongruous, but somehow it had that same quiet, peaceful, life-affirming quality.
Displays of potted perennials and pollinator-friendly plants next to a small lavender demonstration garden set a welcoming tone. Herbie busily explored the new sights and smells as we made our way to the lavender patch at the back, near the creek. A bench beckoned. Time stopped.
Returning to the visitor tent, I spoke with owner Jered Grzybowski, who explained that while their operation might look smaller than some of the other farms, Goodwin produces 125 varieties of lavender and hundreds of other perennials. In fact, they supply growers in the region and clients all over the world. They’re also now the greenhouse propagation and demonstration garden division for Charsaw Farms, a family-owned lavender farm in Napa.
I toured one of the greenhouses with father-in-law Ed. He was so proud of the work that Jered and his wife, Anna, have accomplished since acquiring the property from its original owners seven years ago. He spoke glowingly of their commitment to organic practices and their success.
By then, the sun was high in the sky and temperatures were climbing. It was time to move on to our next stop, but not before I tried the homemade lavender lemonade. It was delicious.
English Lavender Farm
At the end of a long, gravel driveway off Thompson Creek Road, English Lavender Farm owner Derek Owen greeted and directed guests to the parking lot with a smile.
We began with the field, where row upon row of English varietals (Lavandula angustifolia), ranging from white to violet, blanketed the hillside beneath a solid blue sky and relentless midday sun. Half way up the slope, a red shade cloth stood out against a sea of purple.
After taking in the view, we made for the shade of bright orange patio umbrellas in the outdoor seating area below, surrounded by large lavandin hybrids humming with chubby black bumblebees. Aaron Reed of the Brothers Reed was performing. As usual, Herbie, the ultimate ice-breaker, charmed the occupants of neighboring tables.
Outside, vendors displayed their artisanal wares, and visitors learned to craft their own lavender wreaths. Inside, the store offered an assortment of lavender products.
I tried the lavender shortbread. It was crumbly and savory-sweet, just the way I like it. I also tasted some lavender cheddar at one of the food trucks and was pleasantly surprised. The flavors were well balanced, which can be tricky with herbs.
Kingfisher Farms
By mid-afternoon, we had reached our third destination: Kingfisher Farms on Applegate Road, where owners Bruce and Annita Phillips grow twenty-one varieties of lavender. There is also a large flower garden for fresh-cut bouquets.
We entered through the drying barn, where bundles of lavender hung in rows on vertical wood and wire mesh racks. Once again, a sense of déjà vu—something about the wood and the scent of drying lavender—transported me to the past. This time, to the Buddhist temples I visited with my mother as a child in Japan. There had been no lavender in those temples; it was just a faint echo, a familiar, comfortable feeling.
In the gift shop next door, I came across a simple but cleverly designed recipe foldout—printed on cardstock like a trifold brochure and paired with a packet of culinary lavender, enough to make all nine recipes. I don’t know if it’s unique to Kingfisher Farms, but it’s a delightful idea.
Then off we went to pick lavender. I left Herbie to cool in the shade and set out to gather my bundle, basket and scissors in hand. Back at the store, Annita told me about the farm, their dog Lucee, and cooking with lavender. Next time, I’ll have to try her lavender-infused jam—apparently it tends to sell out.
Dos Mariposas Vineyards & Lavender Farm
We drove up to Dos Mariposas, near Jacksonville, in the late afternoon and, strolling through the vines, paused briefly to appreciate the lavender field.
That’s where we came across Judy Rennick, one of the owners. I commented on the warm, pleasant atmosphere at the vineyard. She explained that this was exactly what they were going for—a sense of community, where everyone feels welcome. Then she mentioned there were dog biscuits at the bar—if Herbie was interested. Yup. My kind of place.
We headed for the tasting room, with its open layout and covered, wraparound terrace. Musical duo Allison and Victor were setting up to play in the shade of a giant weeping willow at the edge of the property’s large duck pond—an idyllic scene.
I picked a table near the stage and ordered a Rosé of Pinot Noir and a carnitas taco.
The bartender also poured a tequila flute of Mimosaposa for me to sample—their take on the classic mimosa: Chenin Blanc and lavender lemonade. Herbie stuck to water and dog biscuits.
And the taco? Phenomenal. It took me straight back to Mexico. I ordered two more.
We rounded off the evening with Allison and Victor’s first set. The perfect place to end a perfect day.
