A Blooming Obsession: Confessions of a Peony Addict

Ten summers ago, I fell into a peony-sized rabbit hole, and I have yet to emerge. That summer, I was helping out with some weeding in a neighbour's garden and I was tasked with removing all of the weeds that had popped up around some peonies and shrubs next to her house. The bed was quite heavily mulched and the weeds and their roots pulled up easily, so I started somewhat mindlessly into the task. I was almost done when one of the 'weeds' sparked my interest. Its two leaves strongly resembled the peony plant above it. Not exactly, but it was similar enough that I was intrigued. I had never seen a peony seedling before. None of the varieties that I grew set seeds and I had always propagated my peonies through division. I decided to save this particular 'weed' and to look into it. I tucked it into my now empty lunch container with some moist garden soil and at the end of the afternoon brought it home. After some investigation, I concluded that this was, in fact, a peony seedling. For some strange reason, I was quite excited about this and soon found a spot in the garden where it could mature undisturbed.

In the meantime, I began to read a lot about growing herbaceous and tree peonies from seed. I soon discovered that I was going to be waiting quite a while to see this new peony bloom. On average, herbaceous peonies take three to five years to bloom from seed and tree peonies take five to seven years. Not only that, but it can take anywhere from one to two winters for the seed to germinate. If you really want to get fiddly, there are ways to speed this up a bit, but not substantially. This is a pretty big investment in time for a plant that you can just pop by a nursery for, but nevertheless, I was hooked. In the course of a couple of days, I went from never having contemplated growing peonies from seed and knowing nothing about the process to actively trying to find peony seeds. I had decided that while three to seven years is a long time to wait for a single plant to bloom, if I planted seeds every year, then in three to seven years I would have new blooms every year. Seems logical, right? Why not?

The search is on

That winter, I spent many hours reading about peonies. Up to this point, my knowledge of peonies had been limited to the 'free to me' varieties of peonies. I had various iterations of two basic varieties, a white double and a pink double, none of which came with names nor did they set seed. I did have six plants of one named variety, 'Coral Charm', given to me as a birthday present and which I adored, but again, no seed. Like many gardeners on a budget, my garden design practices revolved around the generosity of others. Gifts of divisions of perennials by my mother and her gardening friends formed the foundation of my gardens. This was supplemented by my friends who would offer me the plants thinned out by their landscapers. The rest were largely things I could grow from seed. (Why buy one perennial plant, when with time and patience you could have fifty for the same price?)

While my plant budget had grown over the years and I was at a point where I would buy select coveted additions for the gardens, peonies never quite made the priority list. One of the nurseries nearby did have a nice selection of peonies, but I had never paid them much mind as they were somewhat pricey and I prioritised my budget on things I felt offered more value, or in American parlance, more bang for my buck. That winter however, I discovered an entire world of peonies previously unknown to me because I had never paid attention. There was even an American Peony Society, which I immediately joined. I read about the history of peonies, their medicinal and culinary uses, and learned about species peonies and Itoh peonies (crosses of herbaceous and tree peonies).

I also discovered that tree peonies were much hardier than I thought. I had on occasion admired one or two tree peonies in nurseries but always flinched at their price as I thought that they were delicate, and I didn't want to risk killing such a pricey plant. Turns out that they are tough as nails and now I wanted one (or two, or three...). By spring, I was pretty well versed in all things peony and had decided that if I could grow them from seed, then it would be well worth the investment of adding a few varieties to the garden that reliably produced seed. That April, my birthday requests revolved around all things peony and I added four herbaceous peonies and two tree peonies to my gardens. Now, I was able to grow ample seed on my own, though I also discovered that I could order seed from the American Peony Society which I promptly did.

That autumn, I planted all of my new seed loot and waited for the seedlings to emerge the next spring. By the third year, when I had peony seedlings from each year scattered throughout the gardens and was beginning to question how good of an idea this actually was, that first seedling bloomed, and it was glorious. In fact, I still cannot believe how beautiful it was, though I suspect some of my affinity to it was due to it being my first flower. It gave me three blooms its first year, and five its second. I had stars in my eyes and could not wait until it was large enough to divide.

Unfortunately, I was getting ahead of myself because the spring of what would have been its third year blooming, the skies opened up. The bed that I had planted it in was next to a wood patio and in the past had always been well drained. But that spring, the weather vacillated wildly between torrential rains and deep freezes with a late snowstorm thrown in for good measure. The "ice"ing on the cake were the ice dams that formed under the patio and caused a mini lake to form over the flower bed. I tried to break up the ice dam but to no avail. When things finally began to dry out, I spied a few red eyes peeking through the soil and breathed a sigh of relief. This soon turned to severe disappointment when a few weeks later those eyes sprouted, turned yellow and then ultimately wilted and died. When it was apparent that there was no longer any hope, I dug up the tuber to discover predictably that it had all turned to mush. Then, in what almost seemed like a sad consolation prize, my first group of new seedlings began to bloom. Of course, none of them were anything amazing. They were pretty enough, but all were generic white doubles.

Every year since, I keep a close watch on all seedlings when they come into bloom for the first time. I wait with bated breath for new buds to open and offer my family unsolicited updates on how many buds are on each new plant and the stage each bud is in. When they are in that delectable marshmallow phase that precedes flowering, I will check on them a couple of times a day. And I have met each blossom so far with great anticipation followed by mild disappointment. Most have been pretty but somewhat nondescript and a few have been quite lovely but none stand out. In truth, they are all lovely accents in the garden, but in the numbers I am growing them, they are quickly becoming more than accents. Additionally, none have yet to live up to that first peony and I am sure that none will. It has become somewhat of the flower equivalent of the one that got away. The white whale of the peony garden. A better metaphor might be that it was my gateway drug because I have pretty much developed a peony problem.

My peony problem centres around the fact that I have no desire to quit sowing seeds because I have seen how spectacular they can be, but I am quite definitely running out of places to put them. In fact, I am drowning in peonies. Not a bad problem to have, but a problem it is. I have even limited my autumn sowing to 25 seeds a year. That is still a lot of peonies. The issue is compounded by the fact that I am really bad at intentionally murdering plants. Accidental murder? I do that all of the time, but intentional? That just seems beyond the pale. Instead, I am afraid that one of these autumns I will end up using the time-honoured practice of fobbing off extra plants on others whether they want them or not. (Much like the friend who 'gifted' me with a wheelbarrow full of ditch lilies a couple of years ago and then returned to make sure that I had planted them!)

Or better yet, maybe I should set up a side business. I have been told that it is sometimes easier to sell things than to give them away as the lack of a price tag makes people suspicious. I could call my business Ho Hum Peonies. This seems like the perfect moniker to get people excited about my offerings! Or, I could offer friends a deal when they request a division of one plant or another and tell them that all divisions from my garden come with a side of mediocre potted peony.

One way or another, I will figure something out. Just know that if you ever pay my gardens a visit in the autumn, you may just end up with a 'gift' tucked into your boot (or as we Americans say - your trunk) when you aren't looking. Though, I promise, I will not show up at yours later to make sure that you planted it.