Pure Peony Joy

Every flower on planet earth is wonderful, but the peony is a special case. My childhood backyard had no shortage of floral treats. On summer afternoons, I’d clip bouquets of pink and fuchsia sweet william and cream-colored annabelle hydrangeas. In spring, I’d marvel at the towering crabapple trees teeming with burgundy blooms and cut bunches of sunshine-yellow forsythia branches. (I’m 29, and I still cut a bouquet of whatever’s blooming when I’m home). But when I chose my floral fix of choice, I chose the fleeting and fantastic peony.

Each June, a single deep-red peony bush would bloom in the backyard and I would treasure it. 20 years later, I still get butterflies when I think about burying my face in a glorious bouquet of these unapologetically vivacious stunners. 

They are velvety. They are impossibly lovely. They are glorious, aromatic, cupcakes on a stem.  

Prior to planting my own, I got my fix at the Sara Hardy Farmer’s Market in Traverse City (where I will continue to get my fix, because of course I can’t resist filling every room in my house with them until they are gone.) There is a farm stand that brings famously prolific peony bouquets every June, and we—the collective community of peony lovers—count down the days until they’re here. We arrive at the market early, before they sell out. We fill our homes with vases of these ephemeral gifts.   

The tradition of the peony bouquet each June—and now tending the peony bushes in my backyard—brings me a reassuring comfort, a soft landing spot in the year. When their lipstick shaped sprouts emerge from the still-frozen earth in May, I breathe a sigh of relief.

In fact, when my marriage ended last year and my best friend moved out, peonies played a role. When he left, he left a giant bouquet of my favorite flowers with a note—all I can wish for both of us is happiness. When I was faced with the emotionally laborious task of unframing our wedding photos, I knew I needed to replace them with something that would bring me a sense of joy and peace. When I refilled the frames, I filled them with portraits of peonies by my friend Raquel Lauren.

Peonies remind us of an incredible truth: all wonderful things change and end, but that fact does not dim their beauty.

So, let’s not shy away from joy because it makes us vulnerable to loss. Let’s lean into the butterflies. Let’s bury our face in them. And when they wilt, let’s trust that beauty and spring and light will return.   

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