I have always kind of had a thing against peonies and petunias. Not because they both start with "p" although that might have some subconscious thing to it. I have nothing against the letter "p"... I don't think.
No, it's because I've always thought them a little, well, whorish. You know, with the constant, profuse blooms in bright, showy colours. Flowers flaunting themselves in the garden. No subtlety! No secrets! Easy to care for, don't require much other than the occasional deadheading, and yet still showing themselves off to everyone who passes.
... ... Riiiiight.
So those things that always made me just the slightest bit disdainful of both peonies and petunias when I had no garden of my own?
I loves them. I loves them very much. I even planted petunias this year, and I really have a thing against them. But the little ones in my front window boxes are ... just, well, cute. And delightfully pretty. And exuberant, and joyful, and easy to care for. Such colourful payoff for so little work.
And the peonies. Oh my word, the peonies. They are flaunting like crazy. They have enormous, profuse, fragrant Flowers-with-a-capital-F. They are flopping all over the place. They are stunning. And the foliage! I never really appreciated the loveliness of the peony foliage before. It's dark green and rich and really interesting. It looks good! And it takes me nothing! And I have cut flowers in the house, and cut flowers to give away, and there are still more blooms coming.
Woe is me for ever disdaining the carefree peony and petunia. I humble myself before thee, cheerful dames of the flower garden.
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