Just. NOTES // Somebody else's peonies

Following on from somebody else's roses, somebody else's peonies wanted their moment in the limelight too – and who could resist their abundant loveliness?

There is a new wall on Cranmer Road, built brick by brick by a friend. Behind the wall is a small trench of earth behind in which to grow some plants or flowers. I stop to admire the wall having dropped off her son and am taken aback by the beauty of its construction. Not just the bricks and mortar of it, but the care taken to create harmony and balance within. The choices made in height and bond so that it may stand for years to come, imbued with strength and love and curb appeal. It is vital.

That’s the thing about garden walls. They are easy to overlook but actually do the very poignant job of creating a boundary between that which sits within and without. A support to lean on, or grow things up or against. A line over which conservations can be held, or held at bay if that is what is needed.

We chat by Lou’s wall and our conversation segues from cement and mortar boards to gardening. I don’t actually know the number of her house by heart but I do recognise it from the door colour and the lavender that has historically been a feature of her front yard. Currently there are a scattering of pots around the front door and within them an arrangement of succulents and alpines, each one holding its own within its container. Just enough.

Our conversation moves onto the peonies in the front garden of a house at the top of her road. I know these peonies well as I often parked outside this house during many moments of needing to get away from my own fractured home. This year they are particularly blousy but so far I have only caught a glimpse of them while passing by. I feel a moment of guilt. Have I forsaken them in my move to pastures new?

And so I stop to linger upon every aspect of their allure, the heaviness of each multi-petalled flowerhead causing the stems to bow over the wall; to see and be seen. The dark forest green, three by three compound leaves a perfect backdrop to the ombre blooms, two flavours side by side: layers and layers of pale sherbet peach petals intensifying to a fleshy pink interior among which the sex organs reside; delicate blush tutus descending to the a resolute candy pink.

It’s impossible to resist leaning into one of these clustered beauties to breathe in the scent. A jasmine meets rose affair. Sweet and sultry. I have a sudden memory of someone brushing my feet with peony petals when I was at college, having drunk a little too much wine no doubt. Why I have not insisted on this becoming a daily ritual, I have no idea. I could dip my toe in now, by way of an arabesque but this would be considered most uncivilised I’m sure. These are technically somebody else’s peonies, after all.

And so I drink the peonies in, with my eyes and nose, a brush of fingertips against soft petal skin, a desirous sigh in homage to such undeniable allure. Ironically peonies symbolise bashfulness in reference to the Greek nymph Paeonia who in being the recipient of Apollo’s flirtations behind Aphrodite’s back was duly turned into a flower. In China and Japan, where they have been planted for thousands of years, they are known as the ‘king of flowers’, symbolising good luck and prosperity, honour and bravery.

I think about all the peonies I have owned or grown in my life, from deep ruby red to prettiest pink. I brought a couple of them with me to my new home and am now trying to keep them alive in the heat while their roots establish, even though I know they love basking in at least 6 hours of sunlight. Somebody else’s peonies are coral charm peonies I think, with the power to change colour as they bloom and bestow upon their owners – and those that walk by them, I’m hoping – much abundance and happiness.

I see a petal on the floor and pick it up. The flowers are edible, as are the roots and the seeds. This morsel is a little downtrodden to add fragrance or colour to any cocktail, as I’ve made use of them before. But holding it is enough to evoke memories of long summer days in the garden, sipping on rose-tinted beverages or concocting jellies for the kids.

The petals, and more so the roots of peony (traditionally Paeonia officinalis) are also herbal, with antibacterial, anti-inflammatory and cooling properties, used historically to treat epilepsy, varicose veins and haemorrhoids, and also for menstruation and nervous afflictions. Large doses can be toxic however and all peony remedies should be avoided while pregnant.

I’m still standing in front of somebody else’s peonies while ruminating on all this and perhaps I have now stayed my welcome. I am ushered on by my next set of errands – and indeed my own children who now want to get back home – and so we set off past the flats and somebody else’s wildflowers along the way. It is a glorious year for peonies whomever they belong to and I am glad. They can also be easily divided and multiplied and so I plot a front wall peony patch for sometime in the future.