Why keep flowers at home? Better to go without meat than to live without flowers

Roses climbing the trellis|20180506

Roses

 Red roses

Elva Hsiao 

00:00/05:28

"At the start of summer, the weather gradually grows hot, thunderstorms become more frequent, and animals and plants all begin to grow rapidly. The Jiangnan region of China enters its rainy season, with many stretches of overcast and rainy weather."

So says the picture book "This Is the Twenty-Four Solar Terms? Summer." Click to read -

Although Yangzhou is located north of the Yangtze River, it seems to have no fewer rainy days in a year than Jiangnan. Just so, yesterday was the start of summer, the temperature was not high, yet the rain came uninvited. It rested only for a while in the afternoon, then pattered and poured all night long. Today's rain was more dutiful than yesterday's, going almost the whole day without a pause, and it is still falling outside right now.

On rainy days, one has no interest in doing anything. I only hope the rain will ease a little and stop for a while, so I can go out for some fresh air. But the sky does not follow one's wishes, so I have no choice but to look through the window glass at the green trees outside, at the potted flowers on the balcony.

The southern magnolia has already bloomed, and among layer upon layer of green leaves, large blossoms after large blossoms, white as snow. How different her fate is from that of the white magnolia. The white magnolia blooms before it grows leaves, and when it blooms it covers tree after tree, and it blooms so early that crowds of flower-viewers always gather beneath it. The southern magnolia is mostly used as a street tree; it blooms late and hides among the green leaves, so that even if you walk close and look up, you cannot see her true face. In fact, few people would stop for even a few minutes to look at her flowers. Especially on a rainy day like this, coming and going in a hurry, whether the southern magnolia has bloomed, or what her flowers look like, does not matter at all.

The color of the camphor trees is at its most beautiful at this time of year. Looking over from upstairs, clump after clump of yellow-green, some a little lighter, some a little darker, washed by the rain, carry even more the feel of a gouache painting. Needless to say, walking under the camphor trees now, one would surely smell a fresh, quiet fragrance, because the camphor's flowering season is just April and May. Beneath the trees there must be fallen stamens knocked down by the rain; thinking of how enchanting the scent of these flowers is, one cannot bear to tread on the fallen blossoms.

The spider plants on the balcony look different each day; yesterday they put out a few stems, today they opened a few small flowers, and there is a surprise every day when I go to look. The cactus flowers open one after another, and last year's two red fruits still have not been picked. The succulents have not grown much either; leave the pots unmoved for a few days and they tilt their heads, each one competing to grow toward the sun. I tried cuttings and water culture for the kalanchoe for the first time, using both stems and leaves for each method, and surprisingly all succeeded.

This year the biggest surprise on the balcony is none other than a few watermelon seedlings. At first I saw two sprouting shoots in the calla lily pot, with seed shells still clinging to their tips. No need to think twice: those must be watermelon seeds that the little girl put into the flowerpot last summer. Looking at the other pots, in one spider plant pot two slender, long watermelon seedlings had already grown, only they were mixed in among the green leaves and we had not noticed them before. Now these two have grown new leaves, and six have sprouted in total in the calla lily pot. How to deal with them? Let them grow? In such a small pot, with such weak seedlings, they would surely die. Dig them out? But where could they be transplanted? Could they survive transplanting?

We patiently waited for the rain to ease a little and stop for a while. After waiting an hour and a half, it finally turned into a drizzle. Not daring to waste a moment, we set out at once. Halfway there, the little girl pleaded: when we pass Huaduhui, can you let me have a look outside? Just a look and then we go.

Of course.

But when we got there, hardly a drop of rain was falling, so how could we be content with just a look from outside? Last week we had come in the rain, and how long had it been since we had really looked at flowers? Since we were already there, we might as well look. Rain and such were put aside for the moment.

The moment the little girl's feet touched the ground, she was completely beyond my control. Running here and there, looking at flowers and leaves, asking endless questions, chattering endless witty remarks. With the rainy day, plus the lateness of the hour, several flower shops had already closed, so we could look and take photos without worrying about being frowned upon for only looking and not buying.

A pot of vivid bougainvillea drew us in. In that dim moment, this pot of flowers was almost like sunlight, brightening our mood.

In front of another flower shop we saw several pots of Chinese roses and peonies. The Chinese roses were red and yellow, the peonies purple and white; though all had long since bloomed, they still held an irresistible beauty. We had once regretted missing the peony flowering season again this year, never expecting to see them here.

The lotus in the large bowl holds its buds high, and in a few days it too will open in a smiling bloom.

There was no time to go farther in. On the way back from the other side, a shopkeeper greeted us warmly: come in and take a look, there are lots of flowers inside. Her shop was different from the others: few flowers were in bloom, and most were grown for their leaves. As soon as we entered, a fragrance rushed to the nose, and only later did we learn it was the white orchid in the shop that had bloomed. Although the white orchid grows in a pot, it is rather tall, with dense leaves; though the flowers are not many, their fragrance can drift far.

Unable to resist the shopkeeper's warm recommendation, we, who had not planned to buy flowers, still carried away a pot of peperomia and a succulent.

On the way, the rain started again, and it fell harder and harder.

A cyclist sped through a puddle, splashing up a huge spray of water; though shielded by a raincoat, the little girl's shoes and trousers still got wet. When asked whether she regretted going to see the flowers, since otherwise her clothes would not have gotten wet, she answered: no regrets, the flowers were all so beautiful.

Every year, flower-viewing seems to begin with the dandelions on the playground and the winter jasmine on the wall, then the peach blossoms, cherry blossoms, and all kinds of abundant flowers, and finally the roses; once the roses bloom, spring has gone far away.

"Where has spring gone? Lonely, with no path to walk. If anyone knows where spring has gone, call her back to live with us.

Who knows spring's traces? Unless you ask the oriole. Its hundred trills no one can understand, and with the wind it flies past the roses."

In the past, whenever I saw roses, I would think of this poem and regret spring's departure. Now I have let it go. Summer too has its many kinds of flowers. When you have finished looking in the park, go look in the countryside; there will always be one or two kinds of flowers, in some corner unknown to anyone, quietly blooming in their own season.

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