Flower Stories
I built my first white on white bouquet last week using harvested flowers from the garden. I become so easily distracted by vibrant colors that I forget how passionate an all-white bouquet can be. When I shared this bouquet on my Instagram account, a follower commented on the vase, which reminded me of its story.
Over twenty years ago I traveled around England by train for five weeks. It was one of the most glorious travel experiences of my life: London, Newcastle, Oxford, the Lake District, and so on. I tried to collect beautiful tea sets from iconic places during my trip. Lovely idea, but a bit tricky when you are constantly boarding trains and carrying not much more than a shoulder bag.
I purchased this pitcher for cream on the second day of my twenty-five day trip, so I hauled it around everywhere I went. I coddled my luggage, even when quickly changing trains between locations. Sometimes I paid more attention to my luggage full of tea cups, tea pots, and assorted breakables than I did the beautiful landscape outside the train window.
For years I kept the tea set hidden away in a packing box beneath the stairs to our basement. More coddling. Then I got to thinking one day about how flower arrangements really only shine as brightly as their containers, and I remembered this tea set. I don’t have a single regret about lugging breakables across England for over a month. Just look at the way it holds white flowers harvested from my garden.
I am convinced gardening is so popular in part because of the stories the experiences generate. Some gardeners have a family history with agriculture, and it informs a significant part of their identity as cultivators. Others do not have the privilege of this historical knowledge, yet they see the story a flower composed during its life cycle year after year. The plant helps the gardener make new memories, and thus, new stories to share. Think of how many stories gardeners share about their produce, blossoms, gardens scapes, or even their process of cultivating. When I photograph a plant, this phrase whispers through my mind, unconsciously: “What story do you want to tell, dear flower?” I manage to keep this phrase inside my head as I examine the plant from many angles, lest my children think I have lost all reason.
One evening last summer, as the sun descended and the day’s light faded to a soft gray, I collected my glass of white wine from its spot on the counter and headed outside to the patio. I sat beneath a string of lights and listened to the water fountain gurgle, just waiting for fireflies to blink in the low-slung divots of the yard. They never arrived.
I remained in my chair — just me, my wine, and nightfall. We were casual companions letting time pass around us. After a few more sips, a rakish cat padded across the cool stone near my feet. I watched as it sauntered to the water fountain, lifted its chin, and lapped water streaming over the vessel’s edge. There it stayed, along with me, both of us drinking in the evening.
Soon, the cat meandered up the yard — not a single glance back my way. I watched it disappear from my view before gulping the last of my wine, heading up the yard, and escaping into the night’s fold.
I confess that lately my flowers have grown quiet. I can’t hear their stories very well. Something is out of balance, and I suspect it has to do with me more than the flowers. The camera doesn’t reveal flower narratives easily; I haven’t collected many garden stories this summer. Am I worried? Maybe, but worried in a sense that something has shifted, not that something has gone wrong. Is this what it feels like to ebb away from a flow cycle?
July harkens the next big growth cycle for flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, scabiosa, and strawflower all blossom under constant summer sunlight. I expect cicadas and crickets to add their voices to the summer sounds scape; they will keep cadence as midsummer transforms into late summer. I’ll keep listening for flower stories, even if it means I capture them in bouquets, and not photographs.
Thanks for reading this month’s newsletter. If you enjoy my writing, please consider referring Roots & Vines to people you know. Because I am eager to connect with readers and grow the reach of this community, I’ll send a personal email with a special flower photo to anyone who refers a friend to the Roots & Vines newsletter.
I will see you back next month for a new essay.
-Betsy
