Even if the peony wasn’t the designated flower of my home state of Indiana, I’d still cherish it. I have a particular fondness for the varieties with densely-packed heads—those glorious thicknesses of petals. The fragrance, if bottled, would be my signature scent.
When my husband Alan and I relocated to England, certain plants were a must in my garden to connect me with my original home. Peonies were among them, even though I knew they would take a few years to bloom. I affectionately refer to peonies as the sulking flowers; they seem to resent being moved, refusing to bloom until their sulk is over. Just like people with such tendencies, you have to be patient and wait for the sulking to pass.
The first time my newly planted peonies produced buds, I was ecstatic. I reminisced about the peony buds of my childhood in my mom’s Indiana garden, initially scared off by the black ants covering them. However, the luscious Sarah Bernhardt peonies I planted in southern England didn’t attract ants. Initially concerned, my worries faded as soon as the flowers appeared, identical to the ones I remembered, with a fragrance that was simply divine.
During my elderly mother’s visit to England, coinciding with Mother’s Day, I was delighted. She was eager to see what I’d done with my garden, as I was the only one of her children sharing her love for gardening. Despite the arduous trip for her, changing planes at a U.S. international airport before crossing the Atlantic, she inspected my garden with enthusiasm, especially the peonies.
One particular peony, still sulking after being uncovered from beneath a dismantled playhouse, caught her attention. Mom predicted that this might be my lucky year, pointing out a tiny red dot on a leaf joint. Her keen eye suggested that this peony was ready to bloom.
Mom spent a month with us, and during that time, we visited Wisley, the Royal Horticultural Society’s flagship garden in Surrey, perfectly timed with the peony trials. Walking among 170 different varieties, we marveled at the colors, petals, centers, and scents. The recalcitrant peony finally bloomed three days before her return to Indiana, revealing a creamy white peony with a scent reminiscent of lily of the valley—she insisted it was a Duchesse de Nemours.
This visit turned out to be her last, as her health deteriorated, and we lost her seven months later. However, every year when the Duchesse de Nemours blooms, I’m grateful that this beautiful peony chose the time of my mother’s visit to finally stop sulking. ❖
About the Author: Mari Zipes Wallace is an ex-pat American, living in southern England. She is a member of the Society of Women Writers and Journalists, has written freelance articles for many years, and lives in a lovely part of the country abutting the South Downs National Park.
