What your garden says about you

For centuries people have attributed a meaning to flowers and out of that has arisen the language of flowers, or floriography as it is sometimes called. Originally practised in Asia, and the Middle East it became the fashion in Victorian England and spread to America. Posies of flowers became such a popular way to send cryptic romantic messages, that it spawned a slew of flower dictionaries, some 400 or more. They were necessary because nearly every flower had multiple associations but over time a consensus of meaning for common blooms has emerged.

How have the flowers obtained their meaning? According to Wikipedia, definitions often derived from the appearance or behavior of the plant itself. But not necessarily so.

For instance yarrow (Achillea millefolium) means ‘war’. It is not a particularly invasive flowering herb but in ancient times was called soldier’s woundwort (herba militaris) because it was used to staunch the flow of blood from wounds. Today it is used to help recovery from colds and flu, reduces fever, and is also beneficial for hay-fever.

There seems to be a slowly returning interest in the language of flowers and how one can tap into the beauty and healing energy of flowers.

My interest was sparked by a book, The Language Of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh (Pan) about an alienated young girl who finds her connection to the world through flowers. It made me wonder about how flowers affect us on a subtle level. Why is it that one finds certain kinds of flowers in some gardens and not in others?

For fun, I decided to analyse my favourite mixed border, using The Illuminated Language Of Flowers by Jean Marsh and also the website: languageofflowers.com.

At the back of the bed, the pink and coral roses (‘Duftwolke’, ‘Pernille Poulsen’, ‘Our Anniversary’) mean appreciation and gratitude and the red rose (‘Red Intuition’) means love. In front of them is a clump of alstroemeria (devotion and loyalty), red valerian (accommodating disposition), goldenrod (precaution, encouragement) and clumps of bearded irises to the side (I have a message for you), which probably alludes to my occupation as a garden writer. In front of them are a mix of white, yellow, blue pansies (forget-me-not) that I have not yet had the heart to pull out, blue scabiosa (mourning) and Shasta daisies (innocence).

I could not find a meaning for the pink gaura ‘Ballerina’; the white Japanese anemones, or the catmint (Nepeta mussinii) but I am sure they are all of good character. Knowing what each of the flowers means, just adds to my appreciation and delight in the border.

Interestingly, there are also hydrangeas in the garden, which I am not particularly fond of. Looking up their meaning I see that hydrangea means “a boaster; heartless; you are cold”. Maybe I should have left them to rot.

What more pleasant occupation can there be but to drift around the garden with a flower dictionary. Your flowers might surprise you, or tell you more about yourself than you realised was evident.