We’re grownups, so it is rare that we are ever asked what our favourite things are. That’s probably just as well. However, I was recently asked if I had a favourite flower and I was able to state, without a moment’s thought, that my favourite flower is undoubtably the Iris. While I have immense respect for the Carnation because of its humility, courageous endurance, and its ability to maintain grace under pressure, it’s the Iris that blows my mind every single time.
My father did the gardening in our family when I was growing up, and he was a duty-gardener. He wasn’t committed to the structure of our gardens or to how the colours playfully revealed themselves as one walked around our small property. Rather, his mandate was to plant something my mother liked but that needed as little coaxing and maintenance as was possible throughout its lifespan. He preferred unobstructed rectangles of grass to the sculpting of whimsical flower beds, therefore he pumped his enthusiasm and devotion into babying the lawn until it resembled the golfing greens that he longed to be out on, instead of wasting his time fussing over the landscaping.
My mother had only 3 ‘must-haves’ for our gardens and after that, he was free to plant whatever sort of utilitarian foliage he pleased. Marriage is all about compromise. Dad, wisely, honoured her requests by 1) tending to the ancient forsythia bush in the corner which had been transplanted from her own childhood backyard, 2) by encouraging the climbing rose bush boasting deep red blooms and that grew up the back of the house in the tiniest outline of a garden my father could get away with, and 3) by planting the irises she insisted on seeing each year.
Back in those days we were simple people without the time or inclination to mollycoddle hybrids, so the irises that the folks in our neighbourhood planted in their gardens were the common variety of bearded irises.
‘Common’? Not to me!
These lovely flowers, the birth-month choice of February, shoot their stalks straight up out of the ground by at least 2 feet, as if trying to get as high an overview of the surrounding area as possible before deciding it’s safe to flower. They don’t need to be staked up or aided in any way until the flower bursts out of its bud. Some irises continue to stand tall and at attention while they are proudly blossoming but those who stand in a windy spot or along a high traffic area are often grateful for some sort of a fence to lean on while they concentrate on their work.
That work is to unfurl one to five outrageously lavish flowers per stalk. The common bearded iris, in layman’s terms, puts out 6 petals per flower. The three outer petals are quite large and flop back as if peeled away from the other 3. Those three inner petals remain standing but looking inward, as if guarding the flower’s center. The petals that have flopped back, on the bearded versions of the species (but not available on any other versions), each have what looks like a caterpillar lying along the spine of the petal. It is thought that this ‘beard’ leads pollenating bugs further into the flower to where their business takes place.
In my imagination, the entire petal formation is reminiscent of an earlier age when elegant women dressed in their finest and went to the Opera. The colour combinations are striking, the ruffled edges are frivolous, the overall drama is exaggerated by the sheer size of each petal. Irises give off the feeling of outrageous elegance, in a botanical sort of way.
There has long been genealogical tampering to produce shocking or sophisticated colour pairings, in which the standing petals don’t necessarily match the colour palette or pattern of the petals that flop open, thus adding further surprising intricacies to the species’ beauty. The irises that I now admire in strangers’ gardens or public flower beds can glow in a royal purple and white combo or demure in head-to-toe mauve or boast an unexpected burgundy base with pale copper standing petals, but it is the all-yellow version that was able to make the biggest impact to history. The bright yellow iris served as inspiration for the fleur-de-lis, a symbol that has been used in heralding for centuries. Although the name implies that the fleur-de-lis is emulating a lily, common belief holds that it is the iris that inspired the regal shape. Sure looks like an iris to me!
The fleur-de-lis motif has been used in a variety of ways and a handful of colours ever since the 12th century, showing up on coats of arms, national flags, on crown jewels and embroidered onto royal-wear, in religious iconography, as architectural adornment (including gold painted finial tips for the iron fence surrounding Buckingham palace), and has been embraced as a symbol acknowledging the heritage of our own French-identifying Canadiens.
All of this from the eye-catching Iris.
But there’s also the scent. The sweet aroma that emulates from a bearded iris is reminiscent of candy or Kool-Aid or root beer. It is a scent that one can never get enough of—in the same way as lilacs or of lily-of-the-valley or, some might argue, of roses, valiantly crawling their way up a wall at the back of the house.
These wonderful flowers only fully blossom for a scant few days, although a stalk with numerous buds will continue its show, bud by bud, throughout the iris blooming season of two short weeks per year before quietly slipping into the backdrop of the general foliage of summer. However, for these magical couple of weeks, I will happily hone my observation skills to glimpse the sights and to breathe in the smells that will carry me through the year ahead. After all, irises are my favourites!
