Category Archives: Flowers

This sunny yellow flower is the Coreopsis, commonly called tickseed. A number of years ago a variety called ‘Moonbeam’ was all the rage, and appeared in every single garden plot and public landscaping space that the Northeast had on hand. As such, it lost some of its appeal, as did the entire genus in my eyes. Now that some time has passed, I put one in, as this seems to be a throwback to some garden favorites of the past. Its blooms are the perfect little echo of the sun, an orb from which rays of golden goodness emanate and enshrine.

I like the fiery color here, especially as it plays against a magenta penstemon and cool-hued patch of lavender (not seen, but trust me, it is glorious). I assume it gets its common name of ‘tickseed’ from the shiny seeds that resemble ticks. Not the greatest namesake, but accurate in description. We’ll see how well this hybrid reproduces. Maybe there’s no seed at all. I’d be happy either way.

The golden hour is at hand after a long stretch of rainy weather. These peonies have been bursting at the seams to bloom, waiting for a glimmer of sunlight and warmth to explode and release the possibility of propagation. The pollen practically oozes from the blossoms, begging some bee or ant to brush its anthers and pollinate the next generation.

Of course, that will never happen. The amount of energy it takes for a plant to produce viable seed is not worth it, particularly when there is no more room in the garden for another plant. Sometimes that energy is so great, the plant meets its demise – one life-cycle is enough before letting the next set of seeds take over. These will be clipped as soon as the petals start to fall.

But first, they put on this show. Resplendently backlit by the afternoon sun, they shine. Each petal a work of art, each fallen particle of bright yellow pollen a stroke of genius. One need only place their faith in nature to find beauty.

The peonies have been taking their time to bloom, waiting in a semi-purgatorial state while the weather was rough. Now they are taking off, a glorious signal that summer is almost at hand.

All plants bow down to the rain – it is their life-giver and maker, their source of sustenance and survival, their path to beauty and fulfillment. Only with a steady supply can they realize their destiny. Thus, they depend on it above all else. That’s how I look at the storms we’ve had of late, and it’s how I keep my own head high when they take down the iris and the peonies and the early bloomers with the heaviness of water and the weight of the wind.

Some choose not to grow certain plants because of it. Iris especially are prone to a quick felling by a late spring storm. Peonies stand a better chance, with stems that bend and sway, and the mass-support of other stems around them. An iris is a solitary flower for the most part, a skyscraper with only a single stem of support, and nothing else around them to break the onslaught of rain and wind.

Peonies, even with their heavier blooms, are slightly better equipped at withstanding the spring-to-summer onslaught. Ours have a better chance, as I stake them from the beginning. These are such long-lived and reliable plants that I simply leave the support system in place year-round, and the plants grow right up through them.

As always, preventative maintenance saves a lot of heartache down the line. Healthier plants are stronger and better at standing up through the storms. A little extra work and care in the beginning makes for a happier ending. These blooms, still standing in the spring rain, are the pretty proof of that.

A bed of peonies is the second-best kind of bed in which to be on a rainy day.

Do not be fooled by the small stature of its individual flowers, or the soft effect their airy countenance has – the Korean lilac bears a potent perfume. It is heavenly, and one of my favorite parts of the garden right now. I see them being used commercially more and more, and I understand the appeal. Their foliage doesn’t go all mildewy, no matter how hot and humid our summers get. Their blooming period is also later than the traditional American lilac, which makes for a perfect combination. (As such, their blooms tend to fade quicker in the heat, but we’ve not had much in the last few days, so they’re hanging on for a bit longer this year. A happy trade-off for cooler temps.)

They are also a more manageable size – I cut mine back every few years to keep them in bounds – do so right after they flower so as not to reduce next year’s crop of blooms which actually set in the summer.

Another thing that sets them apart from their common counterpart is their well-behaved tendency to stay put wherever they are placed. No trailing suckers or unwanted shoots appear in their vicinity, and such manners are always appreciated in the garden.

My grandmother loved the fragrance of the lily-of-the-valley. For many a Christmas and birthday I’d gift her a body lotion or soap scented with the sweet floral notes. They are in bloom in the garden right now, and they always remind me of my Gram. The plant itself is extremely hardy, and we have several large patches of them. In one section, they are actually a bit of a nuisance, but that resilience works in the less cultivated sections, where they hold their own with the wild areas that go unchecked. That’s where I picked this bouquet.

It takes a large number of stems to make a bouquet that matters, so small and delicate are the flowers, but an abundance is precisely what we have. They also do well in smaller vases or glasses, which I didn’t really have on hand, so I shifted and arranged them to one side for these photos. Despite their small stature, their fragrance is potent, and it’s a glorious thing. Scents are some of the most powerful memory triggers.

Though I did my best to bring lilies-of-the-valley to my Gram when they weren’t in season (as most of the gift-giving times fell outside of its brief blooming period) I still wish I’d brought more bouquets of them to her. We didn’t have as many then. Sometimes our gardens bloom after we’re gone.