The August Print

How one 18th-century floral print became a story of family, memory, and home

A Little History

The August print is part of Robert Furber’s Twelve Months of Flowers, first published in 1730 as an elaborate catalog for his London nursery. Each engraving shows an urn overflowing with blooms in season—an artful blend of advertisement and beauty. Centuries later, these prints are cherished not only for their artistry but also as some of the earliest illustrated seed catalogs.

You can read more about the history of these prints on Colonial Williamsburg’s website.

How It Came Into Our Family

In the late 1960s, my mom picked up the August and May prints while visiting Williamsburg, Virginia. She said they were simply “in fashion” at the time—popular and pretty, without realizing their original story. For a while, both prints hung in our home. After my parents separated, the August print stayed with my dad, where it lived for decades.

Why August Matters

I often say I was raised by two men who didn’t know how to raise a girl. They couldn’t have been more different, yet both were steady presences in my life. Each shaped me in ways I’m still discovering.

August was my dad’s birth month. His influence runs deep, and I carry pieces of him with me every day. August was also my stepdad’s month, a man who loved me as his own and became another anchor in my life. And August is the month I met and later married my husband, another steady presence—someone who has supported me through it all and who was respected and loved by both of my dads.

For me, August doesn’t just mark a season. It holds the three men who helped shape me into who I am.

Choosing It After Loss

My dad passed away in January 2024. In the months that followed, all of his belongings were moved into storage until my sisters and I were ready to face them.

When we gathered this June, the August print was leaning against the wall of the storage unit. It wasn’t the only thing that caught my eye, but it was the one I kept circling back to—skipping past it, returning, unable to let it go.

It isn’t my style, and I had no idea where I’d even put it. But I knew I had to bring it home. Maybe because of the birthdays it represents. Maybe because it connects me to three men who shaped my life in different ways. Or maybe just because it felt like it had been waiting for me all along.

Where It Belongs Now

I just had it reframed, and now “August” hangs in my bedroom. She isn’t my normal style, but she belongs here now. And maybe that’s the point—not chasing what’s on trend or trying to match the perfect aesthetic, but trusting what feels right. Following your heart. Letting joy, memory, and meaning guide you as you create a space that feels like home.

August has found her way home.