Anyone who knows me well knows that I die for peonies. Every May/June, like clockwork, I buy a steady supply of them so I'm constantly surrounded by their fluffy, ever-changing beauty. This year I was lucky enough to be Paris for two weeks in May (another post coming about that soon) and the city of light was filled with pivoine. I was in heaven. I made sure me and my Dad's apartment were filled with peonies at all times and, after I left, Dad gave me daily reports on their progress, as if my peonies were the last of me staying there with him.
Luckily here in the bay area peony season comes a little later than NYC/Paris, thanks to our friends in Oregon, who grow them for all of us west-coasters. How sad it is that they don't flourish in my garden, maybe I need to find the right variety that will bloom for me. As it is, I'm off to my flower mart to snap up this season's last blooms.