Category Archives: Flowers

We hardly ever get to see the first peony bloom. In the fifteen or so years after planting this specimen in the front yard, we’ve only ever been around to see it open up once or twice. Usually we are on vacation in Ogunquit, Maine, when the peony parade begins. It happens like clockwork on Memorial Day weekend, no matter what kind of winter we’ve had, and no matter how screwy the rest of the seasonal line-up is behaving. We were scheduled to be in Maine again this year, but Andy’s Dad was in the hospital and not doing well, so we had to stay home. This is the consolation prize. The silver lining. And it was the best decision anyway, because time with loved ones is more valuable than anything else.

Had we gone, we would have missed out on all this beauty. I find their fragrance most potent when they first open. It’s pretty powerful at any point, but that first whiff after a whole year of being away from the authentic scent of peonies is a soul-enriching experience.

It is the scent of promise ~ the promise of summer.

It is the scent of memory ~ the memory of my childhood. A neighbor’s bed of peonies behind a chain link fence. The Ko garden filled with nodding peony heads after a heavy rain. Our living room scented with a bouquet in the cool stillness of early afternoon.

It is the scent of happiness ~ the happiness of holding a white peony to my nose in the Boston Public Garden and smiling on a sunny, perfect day.

For now, it is the scent of the present. We will return to Ogunquit this summer. At this moment, our hearts are here, and even in the rain the peonies are blooming.

Truth be told, I’ve never been a passionflower fan. There seems to be an awful lot of vining and trailing and training involved in order to produce one or two of these admittedly fascinating blooms. As a kid, this would have appealed to my over-the-top tendencies, but now I find myself looking at the whole rather than one specific attribute (such as the bloom) so I enjoy them in others’ pots and gardens, or at the bursary, which is where this shot originated.

At the crux of nature and art is the featured painting by Matisse. Currently on exhibit at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, it’s a relatively calm piece, color-wise, for the artist, but one that perfectly captures the subtle shades of a bush known less for showmanship and more for fragrance. Beyond the meeting of art and nature, there is the matter of perfume – a very important matter indeed.

Lilacs seem to remind many people of their childhood, and I’m no exception. I distinctly remember the lilac bushes in our front and back yards, and the way their flowers held the water so often falling from the sky at this time of the year. Their heart-shaped leaves were the purest form of green (enjoy them now, as they usually succumb to mildew once the humidity of summer hits).

Matisse captured their subtlety in a vase, and the accompanying gray atmosphere that early spring sometimes signifies. Rain abounds during lilac season, and their subtle shades work well against a dull sky. The softness of their visage deceptively belies the perfume they produce, and it is this exquisite fragrance that pulls me, and so many others, blissfully back to childhood, and back to the beginning.

Of a season.

Of a life.

Of a lilac.

In a snowdrop,

In a line of daffodils breaking through the ground,

In a bright white Lenten rose.

The sights of the season are glorious to behold.

Tulipmania is about to begin all over again, and at the perfect time. The weather, after teasing us with an 85 degree Easter Sunday, has returned to a more normal, albeit sadly cooler, state. That’s where it should be, and as long as we don’t have a stretch of hard freezes, I’m ok with that. Besides, even if the sun fails to shine this week, I’ll have the memory of this tulip in my pocket. As you can see, it captured a little bit of sunshine within its precious petals. It’s a thrill to find those moments when nature echoes nature, reflecting its own majesty and repeating motifs in clever ways. Nature has its own inside jokes, its own winks and nods.

Certain flowers have the power to cheer. For me, tulips are first. They always make me smile. Narcissus are a close second, and maybe iris. No, it’s got to be peonies – though when I see and sniff a peony there is more than simple cheer – there are deeper emotions involved in a peony. So while it may be my favorite flower, the peony isn’t the first to cheer me. I know daisies make Suzie and JoAnn happy, and the Gerbera daisy tickles my friend Sherri’s fancy. While I’ve never grown them, ranunculus, with their deliciously twisted name, have always cheered me upon sight, though I’ve yet to buy a bunch. Maybe that will change soon. We all need a little cheer these days. In the meantime, here’s the best I can do.

This happy little daffodil (the name of which some may find objection at, but as long as they’re bright and lightly-scented, I don’t care what you call them) was part of a bouquet of blooms I picked up a couple of weeks ago. We’re just starting to see their outside cousins rise up from the chilly ground. I’m still hesitant to give everything over to spring just yet (too great a chance for a snowstorm) and part of me has halted any celebratory sigh of relief, especially when I think back to last year’s banner crop of lilac blooms that was instantly decimated by a late-season freeze. Mother Nature is to be honored, but never trusted. Unless you’re placing trust in fickleness and unpredictability.

Tom Ford did a few floral scents in his Jardin series, inspired by these spring blooms, none of which was very impressive. While some flowers lend themselves to lasting scents (jasmine, tuberose, gardenia) these early bloomers don’t give it up as easily. His jonquil and hyacinth attempts did not connect for me – spring is about something lighter, and Ford’s private Blends (with the possible exception of the summer-based Portofino collection) have too much oomph and headiness to translate the delicacy of the spring bulbs.

For me, the only way to smell these properly is to take an early season stroll and feel the soft dampness of a spring earth beneath your feet. The air should be almost as wet as the ground, and as you approach a swath of narcissus, you will smell their delicate sweetness. You should get your knees wet as you kneel beside their fragrant beauty, and it will always be worth it. Forever after, that memory will be conjured -in every passing grocery market bucket, in every fancy hotel lobby that serves up seasonal blooms, you will be brought back to the happiest time of the year when you sniff them again: spring.

A sigh, then, before the very last entries for The Delusional Grandeur Tour.

A pause, if you will, before we careen into the final plunge of this ride.

A moment, tucked into the end, and saved just for us.

For the ones who remain.

You know who you are.

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

A simple bouquet for your midday contemplation, in hot pink and evergreen.

A more colorful version of this companion study in simplicity.

As a wise woman once said, pink goes good with green.

A scent leading to a memory.

Like an obedient dog, I follow.

To a fall, and a trailer, far out in the country.

The sweetness of the paperwhite narcissus subsides, and the acrid smell of burning leaves explains the smoky air.

In a claustrophobic room, a pile of kittens suckles their mother.

I pick the one with tiger stripes.

A mischievous little thing.

You never know what the kitten will become.

More importantly, you never know what’s on the mind of a cat.

The fragrance fades.

The memory recedes.

I will revisit it another time.