Who Needs Orchids?

Several days ago when Joel and I were both at the dining room table looking at the irises in a vase I had prepared for an event my parents helped plan, he asked, "Who needs orchids?"

He went on to observe that each kind of iris has its own characteristic. Royal, frilly, elegant, dainty. Each bloom has enormous flower power. I talked about their wonderful suitableness for Kansas growing conditions. They love hot summers and don't need a lot of water. The dry air does not encourage the proliferation of fungus diseases that attack irises in some places. They multiply readily and can be shared or spread around on one's own property.

I'm especially enjoying the irises this year since last year was almost a total washout for irises. Then, nearly all the buds froze on Easter weekend in April after an unusually warm March. Even so, for the second year in a row, the local iris club's annual show was canceled this year. An unusually late season meant that hardly any irises had begun blooming by Mother's Day, the traditional show day. A week later, however, they were in full glory.

In the years since I've been a member of the iris club, I've learned some helpful terminology. The parts that stick up are called standards. The parts that hang down are called falls. On the shoulder of the falls are beards, which may be the same color as the falls or a contrasting color.

Irises may be dwarf, intermediate, or tall. The size correlates with the bloom time, with the dwarf ones blooming first. In each category, however, there are early, mid-season, and late bloomers, so the iris season can actually be drawn out quite a while.

Louisiana Irises have less dramatic flowers but have the distinction of being able to grow in standing water or dry land. I have Louisiana Irises in blue and yellow, clustered beneath the window air conditioner where the condensed moisture drips all summer long.

At one of the Mother's Day iris shows, a long-time member of the iris club pointed out to me a noted iris breeder, Adam Mueller. He was there to see some of his own varieties on display, one of which was named for his wife. His specialty was irises that had a special structure growing out from between the standards and the falls. They were roughly spoon shaped, with the bowl of the spoon held away from the rest of the flower. He was a retired professor at Bethel College in North Newton, Kansas and was in his 90s when I saw him. He has died since then.

Among the irises I grow, my favorite irises are Skywalker, a large, frilly, lavender/blue with a white blush on the falls, Georgia Romance, a solid pink, also large and frilly, and another yellow and white variety whose name I don't know.

I first saw the latter about ten years ago when my brother Myron was bringing his new bride Rhoda to live in Kansas. Martha, who was there with our family and other friends to help get their house ready, brought a bouquet of those voluptuous, extravagant irises. I never forgot them.

Several years ago when I had enough Georgia Romance to share, I talked to Martha's mother, Mary, about those irises and said I'd like to see if she wants to trade a start of her yellow and white ones for a start of my pink ones. Mary promised to ask Martha about them. I didn't even know if she still had them since she had moved at least once since I had first seen them. Mary kept her word, and through her and her husband Fred, we made the switch.

The iris didn't bloom last year, and I almost forgot I had it, but this year it all came back when I saw those lovely blossoms. Mary has died since I got those irises, but I have an exquisite reminder of her kindness.

Hiromi thinks irises are "too much." Dainty Lilies of the Valley are more to his taste.

I think any plant that grows a huge luxurious flower in our harsh climate without my fussing over it deserves all the accolades anyone can think of offering. I won't badmouth Lilies of the Valley, but I'll reserve my rhapsodizing for irises.