It was the summer of 1987 and at the ripe old age of twelve I’d already fallen in love.
Even more strange was that I hadn’t even seen the object of my desire in person – only pictures and images in catalogs and books – yet I knew what my heart wanted.
It wasn’t Madonna, who was about to unleash the fabulous song (and wretched movie) called ‘Who’s That Girl’. It wasn’t the school jock who lived a few blocks away, though we’d shared a tender good-bye to childhood right about that time. It wasn’t even a person.
My heart belonged to a flower – an iris.
Enraptured by Lee Bailey’s stunning photos and descriptions of the various iris plants he grew, I’d been under their spell even though the only ones I’d ever seen in real life had been the common bearded variety, which bloomed rather early in the season. Suzie’s family garden had a big bed of them, and to this day their spicy fragrance brings me back to those idyllic days.
While the bearded iris and their tubers were lovely, I longed for something more rare, and something that bloomed deeper into the summer months. I wanted the Japanese iris.
As described by Mr. Bailey, these were magnificent plants that held butterfly-like blooms high in the air, elegantly and delicately swaying in the slightest breeze. They came in purple and white, and new hybridizers were working on pinks. Though I searched for them everywhere, the closest I could find was a Siberian iris, which more than happily filled the hole in my heart.
My Mom allowed me two Siberian iris plants from Faddegon’s, and I planted them near the front of our perennial border that June. They already had buds on them, and I would eagerly return home from school and bolt to the backyard to see if they had bloomed. It seemed to take forever – almost the entire month went by before they deigned to open up. When at last they did, their dark purple flowers were as beautiful as I’d anticipated – a rare moment when expectation met reality, and the heart sang for such a gorgeous sight. Those Siberian iris would expand each year, and eventually I would separate them and re-plant them, sending some to friends, moving others to various spots in the yard, and to this day there is a big clump of them in my parents’ backyard, and one in mine as well.
That is not, however, the plant you see pictured here. This is the long-sought-after Japanese iris, the original holder of my heart, and that first brush with plant love was rekindled this week when it finally came into bloom after years of neglect.
When we first moved into our home, I couldn’t wait to try a Japanese iris. I planted it in a space off of the pool, but far from a hose or water source, and somewhat in the shade, which meant it didn’t get the wet and sunny conditions it thrives in. Other plants filled in and took over my attention, so this one blended into the background, its handsome sword-like leaves standing on their own and giving a striking vertical element to the space, but no blooms came, so I sort of gave up on it.
As the best of perennials do, it came back year after year, producing a relatively small fan of leaves, but nothing else, until I was about to dig it out last year. Fortunately, there was a new space created by a cherry we’d cut down (shout out to George Washington), and with nothing else to fill it, I moved the iris there. It was close to the hose at last, and I decided to pamper it a bit for a year to see what it might produce. As the season progressed, and I kept the watering up, along with some fertilization, the leaves expanded and grew into a fine and impressive clump – much thicker and more robust than any other year. It must have liked all the new sun and nourishment it was getting, but it was too soon for a flower to show up, so I put it to bed last fall with the hope of something better this year.
The reward came this past week, when it unfurled these majestic blooms, beautifully veined and accented with little throats of golden sunshine, and my love affair with the iris was instantly rekindled. (I’m once again on the hunt for a pink variety…)
