I now offer this to you, who have cared enough to visit this post and read these words – you deserve these flowers more than just about anybody else. And that’s good.
Anyone who’s operating under the title of The Naked Florist demands consideration as a Dazzler of the Day, and when I checked out the impressive background of New Zealand’s Naked Florist named Steve, he immediately earned his crowning here. Making use of fresh and local flowers, along with an eye for the seasonal and sustainable, Steve also imbues his work with a personal slant and an embrace of inclusivity to provide beauty for all. Check out his website here and the self-written bio that goes into the journey that got him where he is now:
Kia ora, I’m Steve, a 40-something kiwi born and bred in the Waikato. From an early age I have loved gardening – growing my first veggie patch when I was ten years old! Growing things is in my DNA – it teaches us so many things. It is also such great therapy. After spending twenty plus years in corporate roles I resigned my job in 2023 to take a career break and re-think my future. During my downtime I enrolled in the NZ Certificate in Floristry (L4) to scratch my long held itch for being a florist. Combining my extensive amateur knowledge of gardening, and the creative component of floristry I started to plan a future where all my passions could come together: gardening, floristry, environmental responsibility, empathy and shared positivity. Out of all this, The Naked Florist was born!
Fuzziness is usually the state of my head these days, which doesn’t make it a welcome state for the most part. May this post go a little way toward redeeming the notion of fuzziness, lending it a cute and cuddly aspect through this vibrant flower currently in bloom on our patio.
A fuzzy Friday in mid-August calls for the world to pause and stop spinning, just until you get a gander at these beauties.
A promise is something I take very seriously, so here is the fulfillment of the promise to let you know how this hibiscus bouquet turned out. As expected, the flower lasted about the same length as it would in its typical outside environs – perhaps maybe going a little longer without any direct sun and wind to zap its energy and cellular structure. Eventually though, within the second day, the petals wilted, and it began shriveling up to the point where it shrunk back inside its vase.
These photos were taken minutes after I clipped the flower and put it into its vase, so I can’t verify whether hibiscus blooms make for decent cut flowers or not – they usually only last a little more than a day – their show bolstered by numbers rather than duration, not unlike the daylily.
For a dinner party that only lasts an evening, however, this may make for a stunning centerpiece – I’ll let you know how quickly it wilts in a future post.
The floral fuzziness of these Salvia blooms are different from all the other Salvia varieties in our backyard, which makes these a little extra special. I’m not sure if the hummingbirds (and hummingbird moths, should we be so lucky) prefer this sort of fuzz or not – people are divided over fur so I imagine animals might be as well. Personally, I love the fuzzy outer coat on exhibit here – life is about texture and sensual delights. Try some, feel one…
A striking shade for a Rose of Sharon plant to have, this lavender-hued beauty is in bloom in downtown Albany a couple of blocks from my office building, so I get to visit it on lunch when it’s not 100 degrees outside. It’s a happy visage for a lazy Sunday night in summer, so I’m sharing it with you now. Enjoy.
Filipendula rubra is a robust and towering plant, reaching heights up to eight feet in conditions it likes (wet feet and sun) – and is topped by fluffy plumes of pink flowers at this time of the year, earning it the nickname ‘Queen of the Prairie’. While the effect is grand from a distance, it’s even more enchanting when viewed up close, which is the main point of this post.
Like the yolk of an egg, the central whorls of this daisy ring out in bright, cheerful yellow – a reflection of the summer sun from the ground below. These daisies have been in the garden for several years, coming back pretty robustly with some regular watering and feeding. This first flush of flowers is the biggest and best of the entire season, though they will sporadically throw out additional blooms in a smaller, secondary blooming.
Daisies are favorites of a couple of my friends – JoAnn and Suzie especially – so I’ll usually send them a few photos if they’re not here to see them in person. This is one way flowers bring people together.
The oregano got away from me this year, bolting a bit too quickly into flower before I had a chance to pounce it back. Not as disastrous as if I’d let the basil follow-suit, but less than ideal when we want foliage over flowers. Attempting to turn lemons into lemonade, I hastily harvested the flower heads as soon as I realized what was happening and turned them into an elegant centerpiece for a summer dinner.
They make for a more refined appearance and tidier filler than that awful baby’s breath that florists still seem to use (who in hell wants the breath of baby anywhere near a beautiful bouquet?) This happy accident made for a bouquet unto itself, which is how summer should be – easy and elegant and simple.
For a dinner table display, there is enough interest in the whorls of each individual bud to entice a closer inspection, so when all else fails you have one more thing to discuss. My guests are always infinitely more interesting than having to resort to such tactics but for those of you seeking out topics, go for the oregano bloom.
Petunias are a classic, if overly-used, annual that provides boffo floral bang for their bucks. I’ve come to appreciate such a powerhouse bloomer, though when I tried accenting our garden with a few of them lats year, they were devoured by a rabbit or groundhog before they ever got going. When they do manage to survive such attacks, they will sometimes manage to reseed themselves the next year, though never in a place nearby. Such mysteries are what makes gardening to fascinating to me. One never knows what’s going to pop up, or where or when. It’s good to have the unexpected to keep you on your toes.
As for this beautiful variety, I love the way the shades of the petals change, and all the intricate veining. Nature is wonderfully astounding when you take in her infinite variety – and I don’t mind if it’s the work of hybridizers. A little nudge never hurt anyone, unless they were standing on the edge of a cliff or something, and these petunias were nowhere near cliffside. This has been a remarkably dumb post, and I’m attributing it to the heat. Summer makes fools of us all.
One of the very first garden plants I obsessively coveted was this evening primrose, which is blanketed in beautiful yellow flowers this time of the year. They have a short blooming period, but it’s a blockbuster show while it lasts. Such a bright and cheery color is welcome no matter how brief its stay might be. How you can you be mad at the world when little drops of sunshine peer up at you from the ground?
This season, however, I plopped one into a group pot and it’s already in bloom. Maybe it sensed we needed some cheer. Maybe it jumped the gun and wanted to steal the early glory for itself. Maybe it’s just a plant and doesn’t care either way. Whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s here, and I’m loving its vibrant color.
It’s a decent personification of the fire this week’s temperatures are set to bring. Burn, baby, burn.
The hosta blooms rose early this year, in the weird way that nature has of delaying some plants, while accelerating others. I’ve noticed the seven sons’ flower tree already shooting out its buds, which shouldn’t bloom until August if we’re on the usual trajectory. This hosta bloom is backed by the brilliant chartreuse of the Aralia cordata ‘Sun King’ – the lilac color looking splendid against the bright green of earliest summer (though this King will hang onto its gorgeous bright green for the entire season).
