Category Archives: Flowers

Spring flowers that are kissed with color will never be unwelcome here. I think these are azaleas of some sort – their petals are painted by the powers-that-be, and the effect is striking. While I’ve never been a big fan of the over-hybridized or extra-frilly ornamental flowers that these exemplify, I’m changing in the time of the pandemic, and my tastes have shifted too. I’m less willing to find fault with certain things, and more willing with others. These flowers are not deserving of criticism – they are spreading joy and happiness and I want only to applaud that. 

They have come to symbolize the very beginning and the very end of the winter season. The bloom of the Paperwhite narcissus brings back opposing memories. It happens that I either force them first thing in season, so their blooms come just as fall is ripening into winter, or I forget about them and end up forcing them at the very end of winter, just as the first spring thaws arrive, which is what happened this year. As such, the memories they trigger are at once conflicting – the gray days of November at odds with the gray days of March – but there are joys to be found in each segment of the calendar, and in a way their stature as bookends of winter is something of comfort.

Their fragrance is polarizing – though it’s all love from these parts. It brings me back to my very first experience forcing them. A friend of my Mom, joining us for a trip to Cape Cod, regaled me with tales of the forcing process, and I listened – fascinated and rapt with wonder at this new way of getting a bulb to bloom.

“In the mornings I drank the dew that dropped from the magnolia,

At evening ate the fallen petals of chrysanthemums…”

~ Qu Yuan

There’s not much upon we can definitively rely these days – far less than ever before, it certainly seems – but there has always been a spring, in some way, shape or form. We are almost there once again, and it will be here in a  few weeks. After the past year, however, we greet it hesitantly; as welcome and as needed as it is, I’m still wary. Too many plans have been derailed, too many perfect vacations canceled and erased from the calendar. I’d rather be pleasantly surprised than depressingly disappointed. 

That doesn’t mean I haven’t given in to some of the hope that is in the air. 

A bouquet of jonquils has already come and gone in our kitchen. 

The tulips and hyacinths have started appearing in the markets.

And the primrose plants seen here are brightening up the greenhouses at Faddegon’s. 

All are signs that spring, in whatever way it will, shall come again. 

It’s been far too many years since I last attended the New England Flower Show – and to be honest I’m not even sure they were having it even prior to COVID. But every March I get the same restless hankering for something that brings me closer to spring. This year my weekly visits to the local greenhouse will have to suffice, where I can take my time walking past African violets like the ones shown here and dreaming of the days when similar blooms will be showing off in the gardens outside. 

With the exception of this crazy cactus, we don’t have any indoor plants that bloom. I’ve been toying with the idea of adding a Clivia to our collection, or finding another walking iris, but outside of bloom those are both pretty dull performers. Instead, I’ll force a few bulbs every year (a forgotten bag of Paperwhite narcissus was just discovered on the attic stairs and I immediately plopped them into a vase of water and pebbles – we will see if it’s not too late to salvage a bloom or two, as always seems to happen) but other than that our houseplants are mainly for foliage and form. The older I get the more my tastes seem to shift to the subtle. 

That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the blooms seen here. An African violet is a thing of beauty indeed. 

“I love tulips better than any other spring flower; they are the embodiment of alert cheerfulness and tidy grace, and next to a hyacinth look like a wholesome, freshly tubbed young girl beside a stout lady whose every movement weighs down the air with patchouli. Their faint, delicate scent is refinement itself; and is there anything in the world more charming than the sprightly way they hold up their little faces to the sun. I have heard them called bold and flaunting, but to me they seem modest grace itself, only always on the alert to enjoy life as much as they can and not be afraid of looking the sun or anything else above them in the face.” ~ Elizabeth von Arnim

My heart leapt for joy when I saw the first bucket of jonquils appear at the market a few days ago, a signal that we are on indeed on the road to spring. Already, more winter has passed than we have yet to traverse. That is a very lovely thought. Almost as lovely as these cheery flowers, with their delicate scent that is barely perceptible, lending something even more wonderfully elusive to their appeal. 

After everything that has happened over the past year, I hesitate to get too many hopes up, but the sight of these pretty little things has cheered me, so I’m going to indulge in some gratitude and appreciation of their gentle beauty. 

Sometimes the best bouquets are simple ones. 

“Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.” ~ Virginia Woolf

What a luxury to have flowers at the veritable height of winter! Troubled by modern-day worries, I haven’t been sleeping as well these past few weeks, which means I’ve been waking at 4 or 5 in the morning and not getting back to sleep. On this particular morning I popped up around 5 AM, and since I didn’t have to start work until 8, I made a quick trip to the grocery store for these flowers and some groceries for the week.

What a difference a simple bouquet makes, and I’m reminded that this was something I was going to implement regularly for this winter. It’s never too late, so here we have beauty and color and fragrance. They are the first thing to greet us when we walk out of the bedroom, and they help start the day in happy fashion.

“Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.” ~ Virginia Woolf

This trio of tulips called me back to memories I’ve held since childhood, and some more recent recollections that involved the happy flower…

Tulipmania.

Tulip titillation.

Tulip sunshine.

Tulip perfume.

Tulip curves.

Tulip beds.

Tulip portals.

Tulipa.

Once upon a time, the orchid was an exquisite rarity only shown by the most ostentatious home-owners and specialty botanical enthusiasts. We’ve come a long way since those early days of orchid culture, as now there are orchids at every turn – home improvement centers, supermarkets, and of course all the nurseries and greenhouses. More than that, they are all pretty affordable and easy to care for – at least the common ones – and even the common ones are exquisite. 

For some reason, I’ve largely ignored them, but the more I think of it, the more I wonder why. For the price of a typical floral arrangement, I could have been purchasing an orchid, which would last weeks beyond that bouquet. Not that we need any more plants, but the next time I have a hankering for some floral cheer, this may be a new-old option. Besides, they seem to be a background pre-requisite for all Zoom meetings. 

They signal the impending spring, and though it be a bit of a ways off, we are chomping at the bit. Stick a sugar stick in me or toss me a carrot because I am raring to be done with winter. As much as I’ve made motions to embrace and accept it, the heart still longs for spring and sun and warm weather. This week has chilled us to the bone.

These happy little primroses reminded me that we are headed in that direction, and I always thrill at seeing them and the spring bulb flowers in the markets starting at this time of the year. The hyacinths – forced in their single-bulb vases – and tulips brighten the days with their colorful petals as much as their sweet fragrance. Soon the jonquils wrapped tightly in bud in tens and twenties will add the brightest yellow to the scene, along with their delicate scent. 

For now, these primroses will carry us to the end of January, and then a full month of winter will have gone by. Baby steps, perhaps, but every journey has its slow start. Let’s make this one a pretty one. 

A little floral waterfall spills over its wooden shelf in the local greenhouse. Faddegon’s is still my go-to escape when there is nowhere else providing such a green balm, and this little specimen caught my eye in its quiet corner. We’re just about out of room for plants, so I wasn’t in the market for any new acquisitions. Instead, I appreciate its beauty in that moment, soaking in the atmosphere and the induced peace, capturing the feeling of the experience, making a mental image, and taking a phone photo as insurance. It’s also to share with you on a Friday afternoon. This is how we exchange experiences when we can’t do it in person. There is distance between us – time too – yet somehow I hope the sentiment gets through, and that it’s more than just a faded echo of emotion. 

The first month of winter comes to its conclusion in sunny, happy fashion. There is a frigid bite in the air, and temperatures are due to descend even more, but these little narcissus blooms brightened the local greenhouse, reminding me that we are headed in the right direction. Along with hyacinths and tulips, the blooms that are just starting to appear will lead us directly to another spring, which will arrive no matter how many storms or difficulties arise along the way. And so I shall indulge in their beauty and fragrance, holding onto the sneak-peek of spring just a little tighter than I have in previous years. 

Maybe it’s a little premature, but this year we need it sooner rather than later. Besides, this is a week I’m choosing to focus on hope and possibility, leaving the pathos and darkness to which we’ve become accustomed swirl away down the proverbial drain. Soon enough, the snow will melt away. The earth will heave and begin to shake off the winter. Spring will come again, it always does. It always will.