At Home: The Beauty of Irises

Many of you know that it is no secret that irises are one of my favorite spring flowers (and I have many favorites!). They are showy, lovely, colorful.

 

And most of all, as some of you also know, they remind me of my Aunt Iris.

 

She was in my thoughts recently when I visited an open house at an iris farm.

 

There were dozens of varieties of iris in full flower and still more waiting to bloom. We were given a sheet with names of all the Iris varieties, some of which were on site, some not. The names were so visual --  "About Town." "Absolute Treasure." "Mexican  Holiday." "Society Page." "Sunrise Over Sedona." All names that reminded me of Iris.

 

This one was named "Joviality."

 

I have so many memories of my mom with Iris and Grace, her younger sister, laughing as they sat on the porch at the lake or at home during Christmas gatherings. Jovial? Oh, yes!

 

"Guatamala" was a stunning, effusive bloom filled with the colors I think of when I see the tiles and textiles that come from South of the Border.

 

As far as I know, Iris never visited Guatamala, but she did love to travel, visiting Europe, Mexico, Arizona and Florida. The latter two both ended up as future residences.

 

Iris loved style. When I graduated from high school, she gave me a silk scarf (this was 1969. It wasn't exactly what 18 year-olds wore in 1969 but it was the fashion for women on an "age." I may still have it.) She loved to shop, as much of an enabler as a shopper. ("Oh, you must have this! Simply everyone is wearing one of these this year!")  So when I saw this one -- "Unveiling a Scarf" -- guess who came to mind!

 

Even without all the blooms in the garden going full force, one couldn't help but be captured by the beauty that surrounded me on this ever-so-welcome, finally sunny day.

 

This one was called "Gesundheit!"

 

Iris was, in a way, a pioneer for her time. She was the first in her family to go to university. A woman I once met told me that Iris was also one of the first women in the community to be in direct sales (versus retail), working for my grandfather's insurance company. She was always involved with community activities -- the hospital auxiliary, Junior League, her church. She was profoundly sentimental and she adored her grandchildren beyond measure.

Iris grew up with three sisters and a little brother who died when he was seven. It was a close family and one that saw the early deaths of three of the sisters, Eleanor, Grace and Jean (my mom). Mom and two of her sisters died while in their 40s and 50s. Iris made it to 95.

 

In those years after Mom died, Iris stepped up to the plate, remembering every birthday with a card or a gift, even after she was very elderly. I was lucky to visit her a year or two before she passed, after she had moved to Arizona to be closer to her children. She was 92 during that visit but it didn't keep her down! We went to a museum, had lunch in town, and of course, went shopping. I stayed in her senior apartment where she proudly "showed me off" to her friends at breakfast.

 

So, this visit to the iris farm was, in many ways, not just a diversion on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Instead, it turned into a bit of a walk down memory lane. Thoughts of days at the lake; Christmas Eve at their home when they lived in Lansing; watching the moon landing as we crowded into their family room up north; and getting my first taste of Europe as I watched their travel slides when I was only 12, thinking "someday I must go there." I spent my first Thanksgiving after Dad died with Iris, her husband Wendell and cousin Jim. It was family and I needed to be with my "other" mom.

 

The iris below is called "Cherub's Smile." Isn't it beautiful? So graceful and pink like an early sunset sky.

 

I like to think that during the more challenging times, there are angels all around us. Those who call when we are down, or who share an inspiring word. We can all be angels, even if we don't know it. But if there are angels above, I'd like to think they all have a cherub's smile, as they look down on the generations who have come after them, who remember them, who remember the stories.

 

I'm pretty sure Iris does.

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