Floating Zinnia © 2010 Bo Mackison
Shooting through the green foliage on this Zahara® Yellow Zinnia plant gave the flower, even the whole photograph a rather green glow. The zinnia appears to be floating in a sea of green. From Allen Centennial Garden, urban garden on the campus of the University of Wisconsin in Madison.
Peony in Pinks © 2010 Bo Mackison
This particular peony is from a peony plant I received for Mother’s Day from a very proud 6 year old, my first born, who saved her allowance and a bit of birthday money in order to buy her ‘Mommy’ the “prettiest pink flower in the world.” ( See why it’s good to keep journals. I read that passage not too many months ago, and made a note to myself – use Jeanne’s quote in a blog post when her peony blooms.)
This 23 year old peony has a life lesson to share. When Jeanne gave me the plant, we duly found a lovely place of honor in which to plant it. It was near the window, center of the back yard garden, and Jeanne was proud that her Mother’s Day gift was so highly visible. But we never took into consideration which spot would best suit the peony, and we planted it next to a rather towering fir tree which blocked it from most of the sunlight. Deep shade would be the precise description.
The saying “Bloom where you are planted” doesn’t seem applicable to peonies, or at least to this particular peony. Though it did bloom, it did so with much hesitation. Year after year, it would put forth 3 or 4 blooms – if we were lucky. Though it grew and it was green, it simply was not thriving.
It took us way too long to figure out its dilemma, and then another few years before we actually were motivated enough to uproot the peony bush and transplant it to the sunny side of the house. Now, the sunny side of the house is also the quiet side of the yard – a space between our garage and our neighbor’s garage, and it doesn’t have much foot traffic. Not too many people see the peony in bloom unless they make an effort and walk around the house to see it. But the space is large and sunny and the peony likes the quiet garden.
So now we have a really happy peony. This year I quit counting blossoms once I reached fifty. The peony doesn’t care if it’s in a place of honor where everyone can admire its beauty. The peony does care that it gets its basic requirements for healthy survival – a bit of rain and a lot of sun. When its basic needs are met, it does its best to put on a spectacular show of flowering.
Just like people. When their basic needs are met, they reward you with a good effort. But like the peony, it’s hard to be a spectacular bloomer when you are a sun lover and you’ve been planted in the shade.
Yellow Iris in Abstract © 2010 Bo Mackison
The iris in my garden popped open yesterday in the 90 degree heat. The night before they were tightly wrapped cylinders, by mid morning they were fully open and waving gently in the breeze. I waited until evening to photograph them to avoid the bright sun. I was fascinated by the shapes, textures and contours of this perfect yellow iris.
Tiny Blossoms © 2010 Bo Mackison
Flowers from a patch of chives.
When I was a young child, I lived in a house full of grandparents — grandmother and grandfather and my grandmother’s mother. My great-grandmother’s name was Prudie and I remember her most vividly when I was about 7 or 8 and she was in her 80s. I was an only child for much of my childhood, and lived in an apartment building where there were no other children, so Prudie was my best friend.
In the “flowering” months – usually March through November – my grandfather, Prudie’s son-in-law, would spend many hours every day in his gardens. Every morning he picked a single fresh flower and brought it to Prudie’s second floor bedroom. Knocked on her door, exchanged “good mornings” and he’d give her a flower.
Prudie had two cut glass vases – one large, one small. Some mornings she would receive a flower fit for the larger vase – a luscious ‘Everlasting’ red rose or a frilly white peony. But often she would get a tiny token from the yard – a deep purple pansy, a stalk of lily of the valley, sometimes an inauspicious white clover or a blossom from the purple chives.
These chive blossoms, desaturated to remove much of the color, remind me of the single chive flower I would occasionally see in my grandmother’s room. She kept the room quite dark to help stave off the heat and protect her weakened eyes from bright lights, and the brown shades, when pulled nearly closed, lit the room in tones rather like those seen in the photograph.
In Hiding © 2010 Bo Mackison
Abstract macro photograph of pink tulip. Olbrich Gardens in Madison, Wisconsin.
