I think I need a signature flower.
Hydrangeas will always remind me of my grandmother.
Daylillies are for my great grandmother.
Roses are my mom.
The interesting thing is how similar these flowers’ personalities match their people. Words like “hardy”, “youthful”, “reliable”, “old fashioned”, “practical”, “understated”, “cheeful and bright”… some of the same words I’d use to describe her flower also apply to each of these special ladies.
So what’s my flower? Years from now, which certain smell, which burst of color, will remind my loved one’s of their old mama?
Thus far, I have been able to grow daylilies, but those are taken.
This year I have managed my very first ever irises.
They are so amazing to this wanna be gardener, breathtaking really. They’re tall, graceful, showy, dignified… in other words, um… perfectly wonderful but not ME at all. I’m over the moon to see their bright faces right here in my own yard, but they can’t be “my” flower. We just don’t match. I could never be an iris.
I saw some lovely ranunculus at a recent trip to the botanical gardens (and at Erin’s place too!), but I haven’t tried to grow them, so I don’t know much about their personalities.
They have lots of unexpected layers. I know that much.
Maybe I’ll have to try to plant some in the fall and see how we like each other.
Do you think that one’s “signature flower” could be weeds? Because I’m really good at growing those.
I think though that maybe, just maybe, my garden holds a little secret this year. You see, we planted a butterfly garden last year. It was kind of a flop. We started too late and the summer was too hot and dry. Everything just died.
I took it personally.
It would appear though that before my flowers up and died, they reseeded themselves. Or maybe some sympathetic bird dropped some seeds for me. Whatever the case, I have a lush crop of SOMETHING. I just don’t know what.
They are lovely and green and thriving… two or three different kinds of things!… but I don’t have a clue what they are. They don’t look a bit like any of the things that I remember planting there!
You know there is nothing quite like gardening to make me feel like a complete moron.
My son has caught me, more than once, staring at those green things, willing them to tell me who they are. He laughs at this. He holds my hand and he says, “You can’t rush it, Mama. They’ll make flowers when they’re ready.”
So we sit and watch them grow. He giggles over my impatience and ignorance and I tell him that “I can’t grow flowers but I sure do grow some fine men.”
Whatever these flowers turn out to be, I have a feeling that they will always remind him of his silly, wild, trying-ever-so-hard mama.