This is the season of flowers: apple blossoms, plum blossoms, lilacs, dandelions, violets, and the cheerful little flowers of ground ivy. (I really don’t understand the virulent public opinion that condemns ground ivy, aka creeping Charlie, as a weed to be utterly eliminated. The bees love it, as do I.)
As lovely as these ephemeral visitors may be, none have inspired the sudden and intense longing that a Bluebird Columbine evoked in me. I saw it across an Amish greenhouse, and I knew it was love: I had to have that flower, so delicate, with dimpled white petals surrounded by a light heavenly blue and a little spray of golden stamens in the middle.
Normally, I’m too cheap to buy a plant in its own pot–I’m a seedling four-pack kind of girl–but I knew this Bluebird Columbine had to come home with me.
So it did, and I potted it with four fragrant dianthus flowers. The Columbine’s almost unworldly tranquility brought me peace every time I looked at it.
Alas, two days of wind have blown all the pretty petals away, although the plucky little dianthus flowers bloom unabashed. But the memory of the Columbine remains, as does the hope that maybe it will bloom again.
The Columbine Splurge was totally worth it.