I've never grown dahlias until this year. Friends would share blossoms with me, and I
enjoyed them, but growing them myself seemed like too much trouble. They are fussy flowers, needing to be planted
just so when the soil is the right temperature, coddled along, staked, and
tied. And then at the end, the tubers
need to be dug up, divided with an eye in each piece, sorted, stored in the
right kind of material at the right temperature all winter, in order to be
planted again. I have been much more a
daffodil person -- plant it and forget it!
But last summer, my dahlia-growing friend took me to a dahlia farm. It was amazing! I was caught up in the moment and ordered a
few tubers for myself. They arrived in
the February or March, I dutifully planted them when the weather was warm, and
now they are blooming! They are
beautiful, incredible in their variation.
One of my favorites (so far) is called "Wowie," and it is the
perfect name!
Some years ago, I reflected on the Westminster DogShow. The dahlias are like that,
too. They are the same genus, but the
diversity is stunning. Like human beings -- all the same, all different, all
beautiful in their own way.
Pictures from last summer's visit to the dahlia farm:
