E. is my road trip buddy. She is 79 years young and last autumn we drove the Blue Ridge Highway together and had a blast. We took pictures of natural wonders, did some sightseeing, listened to amazing, soul-stirring music, and laughed a great deal! A few of the iris in my gardens are gifts from her, including these:
Bob was a man who worked in a shop much of his life, but at home he tended day-lilies and iris with energy and passion. He had only one arm, but could dig and divide plants quickly and efficiently. He was generous with his divisions. I do not know the names of the iris he shared with me, but for my own purposes, I have named them after him: Bob's Tiger and Bob's Royal Bloom.
From Kathy (Mother of my son's elementary school friend). Someone had given her great big bags of iris, and she was happy to share. I love that about gardeners!
From trips to a local iris farm with my daughters, I have Rock Star and Burnt Embers:
From a memorial garden for a cat I had for seventeen years (Mariah), I have Wild Ginger.
We grow almost exclusively vegetables and herbs here on our farm, but as the years go by,
I sneak in a few flowers.
Iris are one of my favorite flowers,
from the wild blue flags at the water's edge,
to these showy gals in the garden.
The scent of iris is subtle and sweet.
I breathe in their fragrance and I am a barefoot child at the side of the barn,
where my mother grew
purple iris that smelled like grapes,
and yellow iris that smelled like cake baking.\
I breathe in that familiar scent,
and I am barefoot and vibrantly alive
in the fresh summer air.
Where ever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you time to stop and smell the blossoms.