Simple flowers adorn the moment in an ancient stone chapel

A February day like any other – overcast, drizzly, and cold – only this is England not Massachusetts; the light is soft and spring imminent. The pansies bloom in London’s window boxes, and in the countryside, where we stay for two nights, drifts of snowdrops splash the green grass. It was an embarrassingly short trip with reverberations that went back decades. We had gathered to celebrate the life (and honor the death) of my children's 97-year-old Granny, and we managed to take it all in with a mixture of sadness at the swift passage of even such a long life, and awe at the beauty and history of the visible world around us, a sense of the sacred augmented by flowers, as well as by friends and family; a sense of the past, and the rituals of mourning.

The ceremony took place in a tiny 13th century chapel… tiny and yet, like the proverbial Volkswagen Beetle out of which dance a dozen circus clowns, some 90 guests find comfort and peace on wooden pews inside the ancient stone walls. Little décor is needed in such a setting. Rather the gift of a sensitive hand and eye – a long-and-low arrangement of miniature yellow daffodils with moss and ivy sits on a window ledge in the apse. So natural, so pure; these flowers possess all the virtues of simplicity. The designer has clearly drawn on the promise of spring to sanctify and adorn the moment.

In London neighborhoods dense with boutiques and restaurants the predominant colors are gray and white interrupted by green parks and peaceful squares. Yet wee occasionally spy a flower stall (reminiscent of Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady?) nestled against a church wall,  filled with sheaths of bright blooming lilies, roses, and the like, along with piquant bouquets set into niches in the stone facade. No one is minding the stall; perhaps the flower seller has nipped into the next door cafe for a cappuccino; and we all remark on these blooms that offer such delight to passersby.

And now I must admit we lost our digital camera at the British Museum, and all the shots of flowers in the museum and on the street vanished with it.

Dahlias Open the Mind's Eye

For dahlia lovers everywhere and in particular for anyone planning late summer nuptials on the east coast, this engaging and informative article in September’s Down East Magazine about Endless Summer Flower Farm in Camden, Maine, will spark keen interest. Even if you never gave dahlias more than a half glance before now, writer Rebecca Martin Evarts’s descriptions of dahlias, with their ancient Aztec origins (as a wanton weed) and saucy contemporary presence will surely enchant and tempt. Here’s a glimpse into dahlia Eden, the lovely people who make it happen year after year, and the surest and best source of fresh, local dahlias Down East.

I first met the Clarks and walked around Endless Summer Flower Farm early last summer, when we stopped by to see what they could promise us in the way of white dahlias for a mid-September wedding at the Camden Yacht Club. We found, among other charming sights, their granddaughter waltzing down the aisles between nodding stems just coming into blossom. We found, too, that given advance warning, the Clarks deliver beautifully on their promises. They keep careful track of their orders and are wonderful to deal with… forthright about the vagaries of the weather, and utterly reliable. It’s always inspiring to visit people so engaged, if not obsessed, in creative endeavors.

And then, the way the Clarks talk about the blooms, it’s as if Karma Carona and Bodacious belonged in the family. The fact that they have to dig up the tubers before winter, store in their basement, and replant every spring makes the garden seem that much more theatrical (with stage hands at work shifting the scene with the turning of the seasons). Here surely is a late summer idyll to prize, even if dahlias sit low on your list of favorite flowers. It’s refreshing, too, to open a window on stale preconceptions, proving once again Emerson’s famous line about consistency being “the hobgoblin of little minds.” I’ve never been crazy for dahlias, nor given them much thought before I got into flower design, but to see their jubilant heads dancing in the summer air, and their neatly fluted and folded petals, is to fall in love with this flower of such exquisite texture, color, and variety.

Art in Bloom and Sensibilities Aflame

The day is nearly upon us. Art in Bloom comes to the MFA this weekend. It starts early Friday morning when designers are given free parking and approximately three hours to put together their arrangements throughout the museum exhibition halls and byways. They will bring vases, blooms, stones, moss, grasses, ferns, leaves, twigs, and branches. They will spread drop cloths under their vases, and set to work rapidly -- composure mingled with suspense -- using scissors, knives, watering jugs, and their hands to turn what may look like a grab bag of random organic things into coherent, imaginative designs that complement the artwork and spaces.

We're talking ephemeral public art, here. It may not last more than a few days, but as surely as the paintings, sculptures, and decorative furnishings bring visual pleasure to all gallery goers, this burst of fresh color, texture, and inspired design will nourish the souls of passers by and offer a sense of hope and joie de vivre -- all the sharper, perhaps, for the accompanying awareness that flowers fade and a wind ruffles the wild grasses in fields and meadow.

It will be a lavish display for sure, and some may decry the expense in hard times. But "reason not the need" as Shakespeare said, and enjoy the riches of a precious moment.