on falling in love with a flower
I’m sure there is an official name for this particular type of nasturtium, but I like to call this kind ‘the curly ones’ (and they are my absolute favorite)
While I’ve been familiar with nasturtiums my whole life, it wasn’t until I moved back to the pacific northwest that I fell head over heals for them—the subtle-ness of the way they smell, the soft oranges, pinks, creams, and reds, working together to create (what feels like) new color combination every single day.
The sweet peas and snap dragons are glorious right now, and there are even some dahlias blooming, but it’s the nasturtiums that excite me most. They are gentle and whimsical and floaty and unpredictable and overflowing over the beds, winding their way through the garden paths, and every morning when I go out to admire my sister-in-laws hard work (this is her garden, after all), I follow these winding paths around each bed, picking what’s ready to be picked and leaving the rest.
I really don’t have much to say about this other than I didn’t know how much I missed the gardens here and I didn’t realize just how important it would be for my hands to dig in the dirt while the day was still cool and my sweater was still on and I hadn’t yet over thought all of my thoughts.
That and I really wanted to write it down somewhere: I am in love with nasturtiums, declaring to the world just how grateful and happy and content I am to walk outside barefoot and sit in the grass and look up at the cherry tree and maybe my anxiety is still there but somehow managing isn’t as daunting because I have somewhere to rest my body and my mind.
And that’s all, for now. I just really wanted to tell you about the flowers and the way in which relating to a garden is softening me.
We’ll talk soon, I’m sure—
Chloe