Beck Talk: Flowers, Flowers, Everywhere

I am a fresh flower fan. In May Sarton's journals, she devotes pages to describing the various daily flowers she picks and arranges. The way the sun illuminating a petal of deep color can lift her mood. She writes, "When I am alone the flowers are really seen; I can pay attention the tthem. They are felt as presences. Without them I would die. Why do I say that? Partly because they change before my eyes. They live and die in a few days; they keep me closely in touch with process, with growth, and also with dying. I am floated on their moments." (Journal of a Solitude.) Without flowers, her house is desolate. They mark the seasons, they literally get her out of bed in the morning.

I think about May Sarton when I do my weekly bouquets for my house. Because of like-minded flower fiends, I feel that the time and attention I spend on flowers is not frivolous or wasteful, but puts me in touch with the cycles of life all around and within us. It changes the house from a collection of inanimate objects to a living mural of change. Children do that as well, of course!

This spring I have had different flowers to put together for each weekend, starting with the daffodils and paper whites and moving through branches of the various flowering ornamental trees on my property. Today I took a basket and did a wide ranging collection:

Overflowing basket on the patio-rhododendrum, irises, peonies, wigelia, and hydrangea

Straight into the sink—it is good to recut the stems while they are submerged so they suck up water without air bubbles. Also nice to refresh everybody after the shock of cutting

The really fun part for me is laying them out and waiting for them to "speak to me" —to tell me which shaped vase and which companion flowers to group them with.