Blooms of Family and Friends
“Flowers do speak a language, clear and intelligible. Observe them, reader, love them, linger over them, and ask your own heart if they do not speak affection, benevolence, and piety.”
— “Language of Flowers” 1809
*Photos/drawings from Ava Wilson
I have always been enamored with flowers and their varying colors, fragrances, and sizes. I remember my three-year-old self calling flowers “fidies.” Growing up, our backyards lacked beauty. They were dominated by massive junipers and crabgrass infested lawns and Monterey Pine trees. There were few horticultural ornaments, such as flowers.
While traveling the world as an adult, I expanded my visual terrain, particularly of flowers, which has allowed me to appreciate the wholeness and fragrance of every flower that I’ve seen. Now I can see only light, dark, and movement due to progressive retinal disease.
Exploring flowers sparks my visual recall, with the memories and images of flowers living vibrantly in my memory bank. Flowers, fragrances, and petals blend to present a picturesque landscape, wherever they may be. Through writing I wish to travel the floral landscapes of my family and friends.
Lavender
“Lavender: Years have not seen, time shall not see, The hour that tears my soul from thee.” — The Language of Flowers (1834)
A cherished friend, Maria, who lives near Sequim, Washington provides me with generous accolades about lavender.
There are many reasons why I like lavender, including, of course, its wonderful perfume. I planted three types of lavender when I moved here. The Hidcote has a deep color and a lovely bouquet. My Grosso was taller, wider, lighter in color, and had the strongest lavender fragrance. The Spanish lavender has cute little “ears” on top and reseeds like crazy. Our neighboring town, Sequim, has an annual Lavender Festival in mid-June that brings thousands (maybe tens of thousands) of people. This Sequim-Dungeness Valley grows more lavender than any place in the US. There are about 30 lavender farms in the area. It is easy to find such things as lavender lotion, lavender soap, even lavender lemonade. Port Townsend’s homemade ice cream shop specializes in lemon-lavender ice cream in season. I feel very lucky, as lavender is one of the few plants I can grow here that will survive, and I love it!
The scent of lavender soothed my friend Laura, a former nursing colleague, as she suffered through the end stages of breast cancer and ovarian cancer. Laura, who was very proud and independent, but was failing quickly, asked Ted, my husband, and I to pick up some lavender bath salts for her from a local pharmacy.
She noted that the aroma emanating from the lavender soothed her as she soaked in the tub. When Laura asked for lavender epsom salts for her bath, I jumped at the chance to buy them for her. I had also picked out some lavender body spray and lotion for her, asking her son, Adam, to use them freely as she entered her final days of life.
Lavender fills the senses of humans and others in the animal world. My daughter, Eleni, provides a tender anecdote of when she brought her roommate’s cat, Clyde, out into their yard:
I walked into the backyard cradling Clyde’s black and white, cow-patterned body like he’s a baby. He responds immediately to the fresh air, nose twitching, pupils dilating as he takes in all the new sights and smells. When we arrive at the wall of green leaves, he paws at one of the several lavender flowers nestled amidst them.He sniffs the flower, his whiskers shaking as his nose twitches. He bites at it gently. Being outside seems to calm him. Whenever we’re out here together, his body feels lighter in my arms, like he’s let go of some tension. He becomes a peaceful bystander in awe of the natural world that surrounds him.
As I recall Eleni’s patio walk with Clyde, I feel warmth. It reminds me of when I would watch my own feline companion of 16 years, Waldo, roaming through the Oakland hillside terrain.
Sunflower
“Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow. It’s what sunflowers do.” — Helen Keller
The sunflower can stand up to six feet tall, with radiant yellow petals and a center which houses plentiful sunflower seeds in its disc florets. I was astounded to discover in the Guinness Book of Records that there was a sunflower that grew thirty feet high. The regal sunflower was a common favorite among family and friends.
My friend Jeanette grows sunflowers in her country yard in Montana. She notes that when the day is cloudy, they appear to turn inward towards each other for company. She enjoys feeding the seeds to the myriad of birds that flock to her bird feeders. Some of her guest diners include orioles, blue jays, grosbeaks, chickadees, magpies, finches, and doves.
My friend Cheryl, a member of my book club, notes that she smiles whenever she sees sunflowers:
I have a blue vase and when I fill it with yellow sunflowers, I feel like I am in the south of France in the middle of a Monet or a Van Gogh painting.
My 37-year-old daughter, Julia, considers sunflowers her favorite bloom and states that they bring her pure joy. I can envision Julia’s slight stature gazing up at her beloved sunflowers, seeking illumination and inspiration from them.
Maureen, a retired nurse, whom I have known since 1974, also joins in giving accolades to the sunflower. She is totally adventurous and has travelled the fifty states with her husband, along with parts of Europe, India, and Mexico. She is tuned in to nature, topography, and everything outdoors.
It brings me joy to imagine her looking upwards at her favorite, the sunflower. If she were side by side gazing up at a sunflower with my daughter Julia, they would both stand about 5’1. I feel a sense of continuity and sentimentality when picturing Maureen and Julia together, since Maureen has known Julia since her birth.
With the act of visual recall, the sunflower brings happiness and a feeling of celebration. My mind’s eye envisions these bold flowers and doesn’t require much effort in conjuring. I envy those that can view the sunflower in person and be awed by her presence. I feel caressed and protected within the arms of mother sunflower.
Roses
“Some people grumble that roses have thorns; I am grateful that thorns have roses.” – Alphonse Karr
The rose is a universal symbol to communicate love and affection. There is a large palette of flowers, with each hue changing the flower’s meaning. A white closed rose bud symbolizes youth or virginal love, while red or deep crimson speaks of passion and true love. At the end of the nineteenth century, when “The Language of Flowers” was released, the types of roses proliferated, going from a palette of pink, yellow, and red to a palette including yellow, orange, peach, and scarlet.
Ellen, for whom I provided child care during the early 1970s, but has become a lasting friend, offered this story to me on roses:
I love the rose for its beauty and fragrance and in memory of my beloved mother named Rose. About roses, a rose corsage was among the first I received for a prom which I have saved until very recently. My wedding bouquet was roses, and I had a rose bed on the uplands with several different kinds of beautiful roses. My wedding bouquet was shades of pink.
Tamara, a low-vision peer like myself, navigates through her blindness with finesse, optimism, and confidence—all a model to me. I feel much more like a novice or fledgling when compared to her. It is comforting to me to share visual or tactile details with Tamara because we can speak a kind of shorthand together, as we both have reduced vision. I consider her to be at the forefront of my blind cohorts, both for her fervor and wisdom.
Tamara completed arduous training for a service dog at Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael. Her dog’s name is Portland, and he is a two-and-a-half-year-old Golden Retriever/Labrador mix. I try not to think of myself as being several rungs below her on the ladder. I know that she appreciates me for who I am, even if my bank of visually impaired skills has fewer coins in it. We participate in a low-vision group with our sighted friend, Helen, on Zoom two times a month. Tamara writes:
The porch roof in front of my childhood home was covered in bright yellow roses from a David Austin Old English climber. Golden blooms flowed over the roof’s gutters in summer. On hot days, l loved to sit in the shade surrounded by their intoxicating fragrance.
7,000 miles away in Athens, Greece, my beloved niece, Marina, reminisces about reading the story of “The Little Prince” when she was younger and the Little Prince’s cultivation of a single rose on his solitary planet, asteroid B 612:
I love roses because they are beautiful flowers. I love their fragrance and I also associate them with the story of the Little Prince, which is one of my favorite stories. When the Little Prince sees the field of roses on Earth, he realizes that his rose is not the only rose in the universe. However, after meeting the fox he realizes that it is unique because it is his rose, the one he has cared for and listened to. That is why I sometimes call my children, Christos and Maria, "my little roses.”
I reflect tenderly on my niece Marina’s admiration for the rose in The Little Prince and her love for her “little roses.” For me, the rose embodies sumptuous fragrance, velvety petals, and this flower, more than any other, links me to her love language. The symbology of the rose, even though it is not my favorite flower, is the strongest manifestation of the love I share with all my cherished family and friends. I imagine giving every person in my life a different color rose that represents my feelings towards them.
Orchid
“When two friends understand each other totally, the words are soft and strong like an orchid's perfume.” — Sara Jeanette Duncan
Thirty-nine years ago, at my own wedding, I chose for mothers and aunts to wear beautiful cymbidium orchids, which were white with pink borders. The wearers donned beautiful orchids on their festive wedding wear to honor the celebration. Orchids have been a symbol of refined beauty, so seeing this flower over the hearts of my loved ones created a special place in my heart.
The self-pollination process of orchids leads to a self-sufficient method of fertilization and gives orchids special honors in the floral reproductive community. Evelyn, a former neighbor I have known since 1985, was amused to learn from me that her favorite flower the orchid is derived from the Greek word “orchidéa,” which literally translates to testicle. How fitting since she is a retired fertility nurse!
She added that the chief fertility specialist of their team taught her how to care for orchids, gifting her a beautiful orchid arrangement that she has enjoyed nurturing for 35 years.
Gardenia
The flowers in your garden don’t smell as sweet as those in the wild, but they last much longer. ~ Chinese Proverb
Fran, a retired nurse, and a former charge nurse at a psychiatric unit where we worked together, unequivocally touts the gardenia as her favorite flower. She recalls first receiving a gardenia wristlet at age 15/16 from her boyfriend when she went to her senior ball in Connecticut. One of her favorite colognes is of a gardenia scent, and she carries that with her whenever she does not have the flower available.
To this day, Fran prefers even the wafting scent of the dying gardenia to any other flower and keeps the browned and wilted petals until no more fragrance can be extracted. Given that Fran has an unparalleled adoration of the gardenia, I fantasize about her roaming in places where the gardenia, an evergreen shrub, would grow up to two feet tall. I remember the pleasure and relaxation in her face when I gifted her a gardenia corsage for her 80th birthday, and I imagine her having the same expression.
Plumeria
The flower plumeria is endemic to Mexico and Central America, and my friends and I have spotted it during our own travels to Hawaii. In Hawaiian culture, the plumeria can be used to symbolize a woman’s romantic status when worn in the hair. If the flower is behind a woman’s left ear, she is in a relationship. If it is worn behind the right ear, she is willing to meet a romantic partner.
Arlene would scavenge these flowers and place them in bowls filled with water and savor their sweet scent. She once told me, “Nothing looks better than a plumeria in your hair next to a tropical tan.” I share Arlene’s fascination with plumeria, I savored it on leis on my neck or while visiting botanical gardens. My attraction with plumeria is from remote stored visual memories, rather than recent sightings.
Basil
“Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful, they are sunshine, food, and medicine for the soul” - Luthor Burbank
My sister-in-law Mary, in Cyprus, wasted no time to tell me about her adulation for basil, which as its greenish leaves and stems mature, does sport whitish flowers upon a purple stem.
Basil, an aromatic herb, is my favorite plant. It has green glossy oval shaped leaves. When the leaves are not snipped frequently, clusters of tiny delicate white or purple flowers bloom on the plant. It is considered a symbol of love and hate by various cultures.
On the eve of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the congregation brings branches of basil to church where it is blessed by the priest and distributed to the people the next day. The origin of this custom dates to many years after Christ’s crucifixion. St. Eleni wanted to find the cross that Christ was crucified on. It had been buried after the crucifixion and she wanted to place it in a church in Jerusalem where people could go and worship.
However, no one knew where it was located. St. Eleni hired thousands of workers to dig and search through the fields for the cross. One day as St. Eleni was wandering through a meadow she stepped on a shrub and immediately a sweet fragrance filled the air. The whole area was carpeted with this aromatic plant. She immediately asked the workers to dig in that spot. They soon came upon the Holy Cross. St. Eleni named the fragrant plant vasilikos.
I relish not only the image of the purple basil flower, but also the culinary delight that derives from basil when used in pesto and blended with my favorite pasta. Often at the farmer’s market or grocery store, I seek out the warm, sweet, herbal smell of basil, as if I am summoned to its resting place. My own daughter, Eleni, was named after her maternal great aunt, with no relation to St. Eleni.
Tulip
“I love tulips better than any other spring flower; they are the embodiment of alert cheerfulness and tidy grace… Their faint, delicate scent is refinement itself; and is there anything in the world more charming than the sprightly way they hold up their little faces to the sun.”
-- Elizabeth von Arnim
Tulips are a declaration of love in their vibrant colors and unknown to me, are endemic to the Middle East. The Turks brought them to Vienna, and they spread throughout Europe. Holland became the focal point for tulip propagation, which is what I most associate this flower with.
In the 17th century the price for tulips skyrocketed but over time became more accessible to everyday gardeners and the general market population. I find the tulip in its vibrant colors looks almost perfect, albeit artificial, and I have never seen a wilting tulip.
For my friend, Jeanine, she notes that the tulip’s symmetry and beauty are astounding, whether the petals stand erect or wilts in a vase.
For me, I love the way that tulips look, with the symmetry of their petals, and how they still have this beauty to them when they are drooping, with the petals maintaining their color and symmetry, and looking poetic somehow, like there is this strength and beauty and calmness to them as they are coming to peace with their short lifespan. And the pictures of vast fields lined with tulips are amazing and beautiful with the numerous vibrant colors they come in are absolutely incredible.
Heather
“Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” Hans Christian Anderson
Donna and her husband Harry, a Scotsman, both met at a dance at an International Scottish Country Dancing Festival. Now married, they divide their time between San Francisco and Edinburgh. Donna wistfully recites the profusion of purple heather in all the meadows surrounding their home. Moreover, their favorite dance is called the “white heather jig.” I can imagine Donna and Harry in their tartan sash and kilt as they navigate through the circles and lines of the jig.
Heather symbolizes good luck for the Scottish. In the 16th century, a Scottish soldier would wear white heather on their head as a form of good luck in battle. I am awed by Donna and Harry’s ability to unify their Scottish world into the core of their experience, which seamlessly blends nature, sound, and dance into their meaningful lives. They inspire me and leave me with a sense of reverential wonder.
Jasmine
“From plants that wake when others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep their odour to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.”
--Thomas Moore
While doing laps in the pool one day, my husband, Ted, had a realization about his favorite flower. Ted reminisced about the delicate trailing nature of the jasmine climbing along the trellis of the staircase in his childhood home in Polis, Cyprus. When his family went to the outdoor movies, the poor children of the village would peddle ornately woven jasmine necklaces that filled the entire house with its sweet fragrance. They bloomed in the night, and by morning they had wilted and died.
My writing assistant, Charlie, who I have been working with for five years, also has a fondness for jasmine. They have two jasmine bushes planted in their yard, one situated near the bedroom window so that it may drift in while they are sleeping.
My fondest memories are saturated in jasmine. When I was a child, my parents would take me to Southern California to visit my family and usually by the time we reached our destination I had fallen asleep in the car. I would wake to the sound of waves crashing on the beach and the smell of hundreds of jasmines. Jasmine is my favorite smell, and every time I pass a jasmine bush, I must stop and breathe them in.
Peony
“And the wind upon its way whispered the boughs of May / And touched the nodding peony flowers to bid them waken.”
-Siegfried Sassoon
Two of my sisters-in-law, Sherry and Marta, each echo a passion for the peony. Marta says she likes peonies because they have very full petals and a pot of them rests at her front door in Grants Pass, in Oregon. Sherry says it is because they were her mother, Joyce’s, favorite flower and when she was buried, she placed 2 dozen peonies in her casket, along with two of her favorite candies, Bit-o-honey, and See’s chocolates.
My sisters-in-law’s relationships with peonies provide more depth and dimension to my relationship with them from 400 to 600 miles away. It softens the physical distance that I feel from them, bringing them closer to my heart.
Bouquets
“Many eyes go through the meadow, but few see the flowers in it.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Throughout history, flowers have infused our rites of passage with special meanings. Floriography, the study of flowers, and many sources of botanical or encyclopedic references of flowers around the world grant the everyday user access to thousands of years of learning. They display the gambit of feelings from celebrations to love to death. Variations in connotation, including meanings specific to certain colors, exist in many cultures.
Sofia, a beautiful niece, who is a mother to two very active sons, sheds light on one of her favorite flowers:
My favorite flower is baby’s breath. I love its simplicity. Beautiful and delicate on its own but it can add so much beauty to a bouquet of flowers. It does not overpower or take anything away from the uniqueness and beauty of the other flowers. It is merely there to make everything a little bit better.
Joan, a low vision friend like me, had difficulty choosing one flower and said the following:
[I would choose the] iris, which symbolizes wisdom, generosity, and hope: all qualities found in our friendship, and the bright yellow daffodils in a cobalt blue pitcher sitting on my kitchen counter. I also love the big clay pots of large white marguerite daisies on my front step to welcome guests. I hope our friendship will always be as warm as a garden of purple iris, yellow daffodils, and white daisies.
Although I cannot appreciate the visual details of a flower’s stem, leaves, or blossoms, I hold onto their images in my visual memory and I can be infused with aroma therapy whenever I choose. I feel affection for all flowers but am most partial to two of them--the daffodil and the California golden poppy. The daffodils' six petal outer ruffles are satiny and vibrant yellow, with an inner bud and stamen.
They exude a faint fragrance, not overpowering, and are held up by a long, elegant, satiny-green stem that's at least a foot long. I can imagine a full meadow swaying back and forth in the wind. Ted surprised me with a bouquet of daffodils from his friend Parke's garden, hand-cut for me as an early Valentine's gift in 2021. The daffodil symbolizes regard and serves as a fitting gift to one's close friends.
The Golden Poppy (also called California sunlight or cup of gold) became California’s state flower in 1903 and dazzles hillsides and meadows with its brilliant golden-orange blooms. I know it is illegal to pick poppies, because of their state flower status, but I am always tempted by them. I find the California Poppy a fitting attribution to my native California status, stemming back seventy-three years ago.
In my life, I scan my myriad friends and family and their floral/gardening delights, and I feel an immense gratitude for the beauty of nature and friendship. The language of flowers is a sensory one, as is the heart-to-heart exchange with my friends. I feel grateful that in spite of my profound visual losses, that I maintain abundant, beautiful, and everlasting floral images within my mind’s eye.
