The Family Iris Patch

This patch of iris bulbs are transplants from my dad’s garden.  His bulbs came from his father’s garden.  My grandfather came by the bulbs by way of his mother-in-law.  For that reason, these plants are  special to me.  I like to think of them growing in Missouri, then California, and now New Jersey.  

For several years, though I got lush green stems, no flowers emerged.  But two years ago, lovely purple irises emerged.  Since then, each April,  I eagerly check the patch for signs of flowers.  Last Sunday, I was rewarded.

Three flowers are preparing to bloom.  I expect that the coming days will bring more.  I will keep watch for all the changes.  That’s happy!

The Iris Season

The last of my iris flowers has bloomed for the season and I made a picture so I could enjoy the flower long after the bloom has faded.

Flowers on these bulbs feel like a special treat and the bulbs are expanding nicely.  Next Fall, I anticipate splitting the collection and moving some of the bulbs to the front yard.  There is something lovely about this notion; the idea that these old bulbs will bring flowers around my gardens and yard for generations to come, long after their original owner planted them.  They are lovely, of course, and in their history and connection I find more beauty to enjoy.  That’s happy!

Iris Days

Several years ago, my father sent me iris bulbs that he had split from a set that once grew in his grandmother’s garden.  I planted my bulbs alongside the hostas and peach tree in the backyard and they grew vibrant stems and leaves.  But there were no flowers.  The bulbs multiplied each year, as iris bulbs do, but Spring continued to come and go without flowers.

I did some reading about iris bulbs and fertilized the iris bed.  But no flowers emerged.  I’m not going to say that I gave up hope, because that is not the kind of gardener I am, but I did begin to idly wonder if I would ever see blooms.  Last Spring, deep purple flowers emerged for the first time.  This Spring, even more flowers arrived.

I love the history of these flowers and enjoy the fact that both my father and I have a share of flowers that once grew in his grandmother’s rural Missouri garden.  There is something to be learned from an iris bulb, which can be shared and multiplied without losing any of its beauty.  My father is the person who taught me to garden and it continues to be a joy (and occasional frustration) that we share.  I remember these flowers in his garden when I was a kid.  That they now grow in mine is lovely.  In these irises, I see years of memories alongside the beauty.

That’s happy!