Dancing with White

Pure, innocent, plain, stark, glaring, white. Growing white flowers has never been a priority; I prefer a riot of color. Yet, white is an intriguing color that can soften a flowerbed or landscape or add glaring drama. At the beginning of my gardening life I lived on an old farm. Each spring a white flowering frenzy began. It started with a drift of snowdrops along the fence. An old family legend told of a cabin that sat in the front yard and the darling white bed of narcissus was planted by the lady of the cabin. The innocent white blossoms of mock orange became lovely bouquets on the kitchen table. The spirea that grew amongst an oversize forsythia really did look like a bridal veil cascading over yellow. 

White lilacs permeated the air with the sweetest fragrance ...

and the snowball bush became entertainment central for two children. The limbs of the old shrub lopped over creating secret places beneath branches of big white snowballs. Snowball fights ensued and blossoms fell to the ground creating a white cover in spring. Later an antique white rose bloomed in June filling the air just beneath the kitchen window with heavenly fragrance. These whites I enjoyed and treasured.

As far as the garden… no white blooms beyond baby’s breath and tiny blossoms of herbs could be found dancing in my garden. I preferred flamboyant reds, joyful yellows, cool blues, gentle pinks, and powerful purples tripping the light fantastic throughout my garden.

Come sit with me in the arbor while we ponder a waltz.

I decided to make white the theme for January, but truth is I took very few photos of white flowers over the last growing season, but I’m sharing what I have. This is my nod to white flowers and opening my horizons to include more white in the future.

I'd like to tango with a hydrangea, weaving over and under in a sensual dance.   

A group of daisies, along the brick wall, stood nodding in time to music of summer breezes. 

"Speaking of delicious fantasies, let me tell you about the white queen."   ~Diana Baker Mason

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chalky white Dusty Miller sat among the Lobelia playing second fiddle.

Oh Miss Hollyhock, dressed for the ball, can I lead you onto the dance floor?  

Two throngs of daisies awaited the dancers along side the curving brick path. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Light turned the gold grass white while reaching for a blue November sky in a last dance before snow flies.