I know, I know . . . .
Iris only bloom once. They are the ultimate one-shot-Sally flower. It's sad. They are at the height of their delicious beauty around here right about the same time that the quarter size hail pelts us every afternoon. They get shredded and it is devastating. But, while they are blooming, hope springs free in my heart. I always, always, always think about my dad. These particular iris are from the side of my dad's house. He had the most gorgeous iris bed that ran the entire length of the house. Years before we moved him into the nursing home, I dug up a chunk of that iris. It lived in pots and I gave some to a gardener friend for safe keeping. It was the first thing that went into the tiny house that MOTH and I rented as newlyweds. They were the last thing that moved into the first house we purchased together . . . and when we bought this . . . our "forever-or-at-least-right-now-home", they came along for the ride. We call them Grandpa's Iris . . .
Over the years, I've traded varieties with several gardener friends . . . Marilyn and I swapped purples, Janie dug up some gold, Dudley gave me some Superstition. I've got my eye on some sweet varieties in the neighborhood that live at other houses, too . . . so I'll surely go work a swap with a few neighbors this year, too. At any rate, all of this is happening in my yard right now and I love, love, love it . . .