Brick & Mortar Treasure Garden Emporium

There is no better rose than “Black Beauty”. Even if you don’t consider yourself a rose person, you will have to acknowledge it has  dazzling and mysterious qualities. Velvety, lush, origami-esque, with color ranging from fuchsia to congealed blood all in one bloom,  it’s the exact rose you might imagine Morticia Adams holding between her teeth while doing the tango.

Not just a looker, this rose out-performs all others I have come across. When closed, it’s very small, but already gem-like. Over 2 weeks, it slowly opens into a flat pinwheel, often without a single blemish daring to threaten any petal, guard petal or sepal. The foliage is also admirable—finely toothed and moss-green. In my opinion it’s the only red rose worth buying, especially at peak demand times like Valentine’s Day.

Now I long ago gave up trying to understand why people resist examining the convention of giving red roses to lovers on a random day in February, but I understand it has something to do with blind fear and is therefore not rational and not to be confronted cavalierly, especially under deadline. Still, every year on Valentine’s Day I try to steer my red-rose-insisting customers to “Black Beauty”. They are always skeptical at first because it is not a bully of a rose like some of the fat-headed rotting-from-within Ecuadorian hybrids that have been pushed by the industry; but once they’ve tried this little rose they are converted. For true romance, or just true wow factor, “Black Beauty” will not disappoint.

Crazy Beautiful

I am a ranunculus addict. I cannot stop buying them. Every single one is different, and in each bunch there is always one particular flower that you simply cannot walk away from–the more twistedly exquisite the form and hue, the stronger the attraction.       

During the height of ranunculus availability, it is a kind of torture to go to the flower market and see them all there, the visual equivalent of siren song. I can justify buying a few bunches here and there, but as they are not always a sure sell, and as they are not very long-lasting, to keep buying them up as though I were rescuing stray cats does not show good business sense. To admit to an even deeper aberration, I sometimes hide my favorites away from the customers for a couple of days out of reluctance to part with them.       

When they fall over from stem squishiness, which is how they tend to go, instead of throwing them away I cut off their heads and set them around to dry. Thus I am able to eke out more time with them.       

Luckily there are others out there who understand the ranunculus obsession, and so not only do I have someone to talk to, but I can also get a smidge closer to paying the rent if I am able to let go of a few.       

A fellow florist  said in passing at the market when we were on the brink of the season, “Are you ready for the ranunculus madness?” She did not even slow down for an answer, as we both know there is no point in even trying to brace for the onslaught–they are sure to out-do themselves again this year. One day I announced the presence of ranunculus on my sidewalk sign, (an unusual show of magnanimity) and I caught a few enthusiasts with it, including one stylish man who said he began to skip when he saw it. I suspect that he, like me, has no real interest in rehabilitation.       

 To help keep these quirky jewels of the rose family happy and upright, angle cut and place in shallow water. As per always in flower-sitting, change the water when it starts to cloud, and keep your precioussss away from hot windows.

Thrills of Frills

One may wonder why I carry carnations at my store, when it’s clear that generally the purchasing public in our fashionable town is quite disdainful of them, even though many designers have in recent years done extravagant and stylish things with them.      

It’s like this: When you’ve been going to the flower market for years, you can get a little blasé about even the more exotic sorts of flora. I see a lot of flowers that for one reason or another don’t interest me on a given day….I picture them behaving badly, as they might have in the past; I imagine them dead; they look listless and bored and couldn’t care less about whether or not I covet them.      

But then I espy a block of dianthus caryophyllus, a chunk of saturated color that when you look down on it is uninterrupted by foliage. (You may think the carnations are on the floor because they are thought not to rise to the level of a table, but the wise wholesalers know that to look at this field from above is a revelation.) Now as I take in all that richness I know I have at last found something I can purchase with sincerity; it’s just a matter of choosing the palette, and selecting some finer points of texture. Carnations are sold in bunches of 20 stems, which means I’ll be buying at least 60 stems because, as it is when making a painting, the colors are calling out their preferences of association.      

Once back at the shop, they are lovingly cleaned and processed, and then we all –the flock of carnations and I– wait together to see how many people might be susceptible to meditating on them.      

Here is what to observe: