Category Archives: Flowers

Most of the blog posts you read here are pre-written and pre-scheduled, days and sometimes weeks in advance. It’s the only way to keep up a regular and consistent schedule with a full-time job. On this Sunday morning, however, I have nothing scheduled, nothing written, and nothing strongly impelling me to do so. In the place of such regularly-scheduled history, I write this off the cuff, on a beautiful morning where the sun has revealed the first morning glory blooms of the season. 

Morning glories have come to signify the end of summer for me, which is a shift from their original meaning. In my younger years they meant early morning days when the sun would cajole them into opening before I even made it out of the house. Those were the big, sky-blue beauties of my youth – the old-fashioned morning glory variety that would wind its way through the chainlink fence that the neighbor had up, laced with metallic white privacy strips – the kind that made such a racket if a ball or child managed to run into it. 

Only when I got older did I realize how much later in the season the morning glories would start their show, especially these smaller, if more vibrant, shades. Now, they signal the imminent arrival of fall, the point where the ferns have browned beyond any hope of returning to their early chartreuse beauty, and where the blooms of any roses have long since turned to hips. 

The turn feels different this year, somehow sadder and somehow more welcome. The light glows differently at this time too – richer, more resonant – as if it knows these are the last days of the summer, as if it feels it slipping away and holds it closer. 

The birds and the bees have been keeping our cup plants company this summer, as is tradition. Goldfinches have been regularly visiting and fluttering about the flowers, waiting anxiously for the first sign of developing seeds. No matter how much they take, there is always enough left for volunteers to sprout up throughout the yard. Despite the worst aphid infestation we’ve ever had, the plants still managed to flower; nature’s resiliency is a model for survival. 

The finches visit throughout the day – the brightest ones matching the golden flowers, and flying away as if absconding with some of the prettiness – flashes of sunlit yellow streaking across the sky. 

The bees, meanwhile, languidly bop from flower to flower, their backs and bottoms dusted with pollen, setting the stage for the seeds to come and doing their part in the cycle of summer. 

And so the somewhat-sunny season carries on, in the flight and fluttering of the birds and the bees, and in the beauty of the flowers and the sky. 

A bit of a breather post before things get too dense around here. Just a few flower pics post rain-storms.

Tomorrow I’ll break out a bussy post, so come back for that to kick off your weekend right.

For now, just some tantalizing pink blossoms doused with wetness – because the plant kingdom is sexier than anything the human body will ever produce, no matter how naked we get. 

Fresh off this simple post comes another quick hit to loosen things up. It was getting entirely too dense with the detailed and privileged post of whining from this morning, so here is a view of our lace-cap hydrangea, enjoying a banner year in the garden. Happy Friday!

Lace has come to embody many different meanings, conveying myriad effects: innocence and sex, delicacy and depravity, virgin and whore, or saintly and dirty. It runs the gamut from undergarments to flowers to insects to frills. It lends elegance to some and vulgarity to others. In this lace-cap hydrangea, its effects are equally outrageous, defying words to the point that I’ll stop writing to let the photos and the looks speak for themselves.

How strange it should be that my major doses of roses this summer have come not from my own garden, or some countryside stand or greenhouse, but rather from a few bushes in downtown Albany which have been blooming their heads off for the past week or so. Such a sight has given life to my lunchtime strolls, and is a reminder that flowers can offer emotional sustenance in the deepest and darkest of downtown corners. 

My relationship with the rose is as basic as anyone else’s, and though we don’t bother with growing them anymore (Andy and I gave up because we don’t have any extra space, or the additional effort the successful cultivation demands) we still love them. In fact, a bouquet of them stands in our den at the moment because I pick them up for Andy from time to time as I know how much he adores them. They remind him of his mother, and so they carry a sentiment that is worth keeping. 

These roses are located in a little corner garden right on Broadway in downtown Albany, where they provide a happy sight to office workers out on lunch or a break – should they choose to stop and smell them. 

The formal peony beds at Suzie’s childhood home – a stately Victorian in black and white perched upon Locust Avenue – were usually my first brush with summer as we celebrated her birthday in early June every year. While the other party attendees focused on the games and silliness that kids are wont to love, I wandered off by myself to see the peonies, in full, resplendent bloom in the gardens away from the crowd. 

They towered up to my height, their heads heavy with petals and peony perfume yet still somehow standing, and their effect was magical. It was a brush with the sublime, one that I’ve held onto through these middle-age years, and one that has kept me company on the cold nights and desolate mornings of winter. They embodied beauty and hope and happiness, bursting with their brilliance and refusing to bow down to subtlety or other expected decorum. Part of me wanted to be just like them, and part of me cowered at their power. In their buds they held all the promise of something spectacular, something moving, something that would change my life. 

Another Itoh peony variety has entered its blooming period, slightly and blessedly behind this sibling to extend the season by a few days. My Mom saw this one in our yard and has wisely decided to put one in her new front garden; it’s a perfect choice for the splendid blooms and handsome foliage that stays fresh and mildew-free for the entire summer season. I’ll keep my eyes open – the Itoh peonies are usually available a little later in the season.

This yellow variety is a bit more fragrant than its predecessor, emitting a spicy tea-like perfume that is akin to this classic tree peony. The effect is exquisite, conjuring an experience that thrills on almost every sensory level. Though the blooming season may not last when compared to other perennials, they come at the most glorious time of the year, and provide such prettiness and perfume that they more than earn a spot of valuable garden real estate. Besides, the blooms are valued more when they are fleeting, and as they denote the freshest time of the seasonal year they will become part of the loveliest summer memories – that time when it was all just beginning, when all was hope and possibility and anticipation. The time before happiness is usually happiness itself.

There is a popular variety of amaryllis named ‘Apple Blossom’ whose name suddenly makes complete sense, as these photos reminded me instantly of that holiday staple. I prefer the real deal, in form, fragrance, and blossom time, so here is an ornamental apple tree at the height of its May bloom. When seeking out an appropriate musical accompaniment, I found this romantic ditty, redolent of spring and love and freshness.

Ornamental apple trees and their sweetly-scented flowers inspire an indulgence of nostalgia, bringing me back to childhood, when I’d attend my brother’s baseball games. I wanted nothing to do with baseball – I was much more interested in walking the woodsy paths surrounding certain baseball fields – so once the game was underway I’d make my exit and sneak into the woods, the chants of ‘no hitter, can’t hit’ fading into the distance. It was like closing a curtain of foliage behind me and entering another realm.

Embracing the quiet and solitude, I studied the plants and trees and life around me. The rustling of a squirrel or chipmunk reminded me I wasn’t ever totally alone, and if I was especially lucky the gurgling of a stream would provide the only soundtrack I needed. It was a treat to come upon water like that, both for its beauty and tranquility as much for the additional wildlife it often afforded. Being land-locked for the first part of my life left me ever-hungry for water in whatever fashion it appeared; oceans, lakes, streams, rivers, ponds, and pools all fascinated me, and the sound of water was some mystical siren’s call.

At this time of the year, all the forest seemed to join in the spring celebration, the ephemerals like Trillium and Bloodroot nodded in the slightest breeze, while in the air the branches of crabapples and other fruit trees were covered in perfumed blooms. I remember climbing into the branches of one of the larger crabapple trees, risking the buzzing of bees to be surrounded by the sweet blossoms, and listening to the muted shouts of a baseball game coming from another world. Birdsong took over, joining the happy humming of the bees, and the moment remains embedded in memory as a brush with the sublime.

The Korean Spice viburnum is not particularly noted for its audacious form or bombastically-colored blooms. Instead, it is the delicious perfume of its flowers that is the main draw. Its foliage is handsome enough to carry the look through the season, and the shrub is used widely in landscaping, which is why I gave up on viburnums long ago – they’re everywhere, which is lovely, but when I’m home I’d rather be anywhere other than everywhere. 

That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate their fragrance at this time of the year, when they’re at their glory. It’s a powerful perfume that rides on the slightest breeze, a magical scent that evokes Gatsby-like springs full of hope and fairy’s wings…