Sunday, June 7, 2009


So strong is my love for the peony that it momentarily causes my disdain for the lowly ant to diminish - just a tad. They clearly love peonies almost as much as I do, so they can't be that bad. For the other 11 months of the year, we have no choice but to agree to disagree about all that is right and true in the world, but in June, we unite.

Believe it or not, this is my sole peony bush. What it lacks in companions, it makes up for in sheer size. I think it is begging for a division this Fall. And I keep daydreaming about going hog-wild and ordering 10 additional varieties, for good measure. So many possibilities!

Can you imagine a dreamier flower? Me neither.

The window of opportunity is so short with peonies. I distinctly recall feeling a certain variety of regret last June, when we carelessly planned our vacation during prime bloom time. That is a mistake I hope to never repeat.

While I'm heaping praise onto their gracefully showy heads, I might as well comment on the fact that with peonies, I never feel the need to squash my urge to cut as many as I want.

In fact, I think it would be a crying shame not to shear armfuls. I believe it is my personal duty to gift my unfortunate, peony-less friends with their own bouquet.

It's what I do best, next to laundry.

It's my spiritual gift.

I'm convinced - nothing inspires a clean kitchen quite like a giant vase of peonies. Their simple-yet- extravagant beauty deserves nothing less. (Sidenote: it's true what they say about adding a drop of bleach to the water. This photo was taken exactly one week ago and I'm still staring at the same gorgeous bouquet.)

Peonies, I love thee. I am honored to share my birth month with thee. I promise to find suitable friends for thee, come autumn. Just promise me you'll never leave.