Category Archives: Flowers

Divided By a Begonia

Some of the first plants I ever grew were the tuberous begonias. Unlike the common begonia that was available for mass planting, these were larger and more temperamental plants. They demanded dappled light and coaxing from their tubers before they would reward with rich blooms such as the ones seen here. The foliage was just as handsome, and together they made a powerful punch. Yet for all of that, their form never quite appealed to me. It was slightly erratic, as if it couldn’t quite make up its mind to be upright or trailing. I don’t like that kind of indecision.

This year, I gave them another try, and though the color and beauty of the flower form remains enchanting, and the leaves are as pretty as I remember them, the form still irks me. I keep expecting the taller portions to flop over, debating a stake before letting nature decide if and when it should fall. Too many things in gardening are ungovernable – I don’t need another. So enjoy these luscious flowers for now; their time is limited and their tubers will not be saved.

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Wild & Sweet

I have no idea how this wild sweet pea came to be in our garden. Unlike the equally-questionable Japanese knotweed specimen that I actually planted (a variegated and less rambunctious variety than the wild one) I don’t recall intentionally putting this pea in. Yet there it was, so I stuck a wire frame for support into the surrounding area and watched the plant climb.

Unlike the early-season sweet peas that are more delicate, and more varied in flower color, this version is hardy, but lacking in charms like fragrance. It’s also an invasive weed in many areas, but if you haven’t grown up with it, the blooms are just as enchanting as the more refined garden version. Its perennial nature is also a nice boon if you happen to miss the early planting season for its showier counterpart. (Yes, I missed it.)

When confined and controlled, even the most invasive of plant pests can be beautiful when examined singly. If dandelions were as rare as Adonis, they’d fetch similarly exorbitant prices. Scarcity is a powerful thing.

While it will bloom for much of the summer, it tends to get quite scraggly-looking as soon as the first flush of blooms is done. As soon as that happens, I like to cut it back to a foot or two from the ground and it will send up a fresh mound of growth, often resulting in a second flush of blooms later on in the summer, when flowers and color are more badly needed.

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Flowers on Vacation

This super-short series of flower photos was taken on a street in Dennisport. Flowers in resort towns are somehow always brighter and better– or maybe it’s just the magic of the Cape. They certainly have the right soil for the most vibrant hydrangea colors in the world, and the potted collections of plants seem to perform extra-well in the sun-kissed shelters of seaside storefronts.  This colorful trio is evidence of that.

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Sweet Scent of Summer

It was one of the first arresting fragrances I remember. In the hot entryway of Suzie’s Victorian home, a bouquet of mockorange blooms stood unobtrusively on the shelf that housed the Guest Book that I never failed to sign (I think I held the record for most signatures in that book – at the very least, I’m a strong contender – and I’m adding to it every few months.) On the day recalled here, the book was beside that vase of flowers which filled the space with the sweet scent of summer – the mockorange. Commonly named from its fragrant approximation of the sweet citrus blossom, it came at the very start of summer, when the world was at its seasonal happiest. Here, tamed in a smaller space than the expansive side-yard of Suzie’s house, it released its potent perfume, and I all but swooned at such sweetness.

Certain flowers carry their power in their fragrance. Peonies, lilacs, certain roses, lavender – each packs its own olfactory punch, conjuring memories of childhood or summers long gone by. The mockorange is one of them. Unassuming and rather rustic in leaf and form – even the flowers are simple and white – it makes up for the lack of visual pizzazz with a scent that would blow more stunning show-offs out of their colorful orbit. I like an underdog that can surprise in such a manner. And I love a mockorange in bloom.

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Drops of Sunshine

Behold, the evening primrose. Scientifically known as Oenothera, these perennials also go by the more apt moniker of ‘sundrops.’ Either way you refer to them, they are a burst of bright color at this time of the year, and provide a striking anchor for a perennial bed or border. They spread quite well, and will reseed if given the chance, though their blooms are so happy I can’t imagine many would be too upset by this gentle bit of invasiveness.

As is often the case in such matters, the most fiery of blooms are often the most fleeting, and while these yellow stunners unfold over a number of days, they will not last much longer into the summer, so take this into count when you’re counting on color for late July and August. They will occasionally offer some autumnal color, however, so don’t fully dismiss them. The best plants are full of such surprises.

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Dappled Sunlight in Boston

Cities often suffer in the summer. Once that heat gets into the concrete and the subways, it’s there until October. Still, there are spaces and moments of reprieve, such as in the dappled shade afforded by street trees, or the increasingly-landscaped stretches of the Southwest Corridor Park, where these photos were taken.

Here, some snowdrop anemones and blue flags find comfort beneath the filtered sunlight before the heat becomes unbearable.

At this early stage of the season, everything is still fresh, everything is still cool. The greens are softer, the edges pristine, and the blossoms unripped by hot winds.

It’s the secret side of Boston, unknown to tourists, and often unnoticed by locals, and I hold it more dear because of that.

The lips of an iris are sealed, the petals of an anemone silent.

Sometimes summer doesn’t shout – sometimes it whispers.

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Waiting to Inhale

Perfectly-timed to fill in when the traditional lilac just begins to fade, the Korean Lilac offers an even more potent fragrance to ride on the spring wind. The flowers are, individually, a fraction of the size of the common lilac, but massed in clouds of blooms, as is their habit, their perfume can spread throughout their surroundings. That’s a damn fine trait for a scent this sweet.

They can grow into decent-sized shrubs, and the two in our backyard will need to be cut back as soon as they finish their show. (As a general rule, the best time to prune any flowering shrub is immediately after it finishes flowering. Most of us forget that next year’s blooms are based on the growth that’s happening now. Pruning things later in the season runs the risk of pruning out those buds.)

This plant also has neat and tidy foliage, the kind that seems to defy the mildew that plagues many other lilacs. That’s a boon for the hot and humid summers of the Northeast.

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A Hint of Lilacs…

Decompression from vacation continues…

Working a new job continues…

But still I make the time…

to smell the lilacs.

They come but once a year.

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Rose of Lent, a Little Late

The Lenten Rose is still in full bloom. Traditionally one of the earlier bloomers, as it was again this year, it’s only coming into its own now because we had such a late start to the season. However, over the weekend it seems that Mother Nature decided to catch up a bit, and those peonies I thought might last after Memorial Day seem hell-bent on doing it on time no matter what. The Lenten rose continues its blooming cycle, and as this specimen is about ten years old, it’s mature enough to put on a lovely show.

These plants are notorious for taking their sweet time to bloom, but once they start, they offer this sort of scene rather reliably, no matter how torn and ragged last hear’s leaves may at first seem. It is best to cut them off if too badly worn – this also instigates a new flush of fresh foliage. At any rate, we are back on track.

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A Midnight Reaping for Mother

The night was wet. It made things messier that way, but such was the state of the evening, and it was the only time I could do it. In matters of human-made holidays, nature is not obliged to oblige. I grabbed a large paper bag, a pair of scissors, and slipped out into the darkness. Pausing on the side porch, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the night. Beads of fallen rain glistened on the grass. The gate gave way easily, and I padded quietly onto the lawn. It was spongy beneath my feet. The road stretched to the left and right – I went left, up a slight incline. At the top of the little hill was the destination.

My shadow shortened then elongated as I passed a street lamp. If I was to be seen, this would be where it happened. As far as I could tell, I moved on unspotted, and if anyone did witness me they weren’t doing anything about it. There was another street lamp near the top of the hill, but it wasn’t lit. That made is safer, but more difficult to locate the prize. No matter – I smelled them before I saw them. I knew they were there. They could not escape.

I circled them first, squinting and scanning which area might give the least resistance, which would afford the easiest access, and when I found a break I leapt up and entered. There, in the center of the group, I wielded my scissors. Drops of rain fell about me, stinging my head. The grass shuddered around us beneath the falling water. For a few moments, I broke the silence of the night.

As each branch gave way, I dropped the lilacs into the bag. They were for a bouquet for my Mom. When I made it back home, I shook them out, then smashed the stems before putting them in a vase of cool water. They would greet my mother in the kitchen the next morning, as a Sunday surprise for Mother’s Day. Worth all the wet trouble they were.

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Remembering the Peonies

This season has taken so long to warm up, that the peonies here have barely broken ground. That may work to our advantage – they usually open on the days that we’re in Ogunquit for Memorial Day, so couple with an early holiday, and a late winter, we may be home for their amazing show. For now, however, a few links to the past must provide enough peony power for this special day.

Peony Parade 1

Peony Parade 2

Peony Parade 3

Peony Parade 4

The peony has always been one of my favorite flowers, from its association with childhood memories, to the memories it conjures of my wedding day. It is imbued with happy correlations, and the fragrance is one of those triggers that always warms the heart. Summer… family… happiness… love.

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