I planted a cutting garden just before the pandemic started - luck, not foresight. I was tired of paying through the nose for worn tired flowers at Trader Joe's and the local grocery store, tired of 4 a.m. trips to the flower market and feeling under water all day from the too early rise. So I went to Sloat, and to Orchard, got a bunch of 4 inch pots and stuck them among the artichokes and asparagus. Next to the fava beans.
Some thrived, some died. Some were no good as cut flowers so I dug them up and gave them away.
But I've had a house full of flowers all year, and armfuls to give away to friends. The best part of having a cutting garden is sharing with friends. The second best part is cool early mornings wandering around the garden with a cup of tea and some shears - Felco please - and saying good morning to beautiful things.
This morning there were flat heads of pale peach yarrow, long cones of white butterfly bush (buddleia to the horticulturists), and, as I was nearing the top of the loooooong stairway to the garden, some bright white hydrangeas. After I caught my breath, I laid them all out on the table.
Tall flowers need a tall vase. This jar usually sits on a table by the couch where we watch TV. I'm trying to use things I own and never think of for flowers, using things I already have not just for display (and dusting). I left the lid in the house - I'm on a breaking things binge, humbling for someone who prides herself on Never Breaking Things. Humility is a tough taskmaster.