A Good Home, Anemone, Canadian Gardens, Canadian life, Flower legends, Flowers, Gardens, Life in canada

Ever Heard Of An Emony?

I hadn’t seen one, just heard the name.

Then I saw the written word somewhere: Anemone.

Blog Photo - Anemone Bud1

Kinda like the first time I saw the word “Cotoneaster” and called it a “Cotton Easter” shrub — to the amusement of experienced gardeners nearby. One of them explained: “It’s an aster. Cotone aster.”

Yeah, sure. But in my mind, it’s still “Cotton Easter”.

What can I say? People like me hail from a strange planet.

Blog Photo - anemone Bud 2

Which may explain why we can’t cook or bake or knit.

Or make nice floral arrangements.

But I digress.

Blog Photo - Anemone Bud 3

The anemone flower, a member of the buttercup family, has magical origins.

If you believe the old legends, anyway.

Blog Photo - Anemone Bud 4

And you should…. if you’re a gardener.

Because I understand that gardeners are really magicians and witches, and that if you see them in the moonlight — at exactly one minute after midnight — you’ll notice that their fingers are an iridiscent green and tendrils grow from their hands and feet…..

But I digress. Again.

Anemone is said to have sprung from the earth when the goddess Venus shed tears of grief over the loss of Adonis and flowers grew where her tears fell.

Blog Photo - Anemone Bloom 1

As to the flower’s linguistic roots: they’re Greekanemos and one – meaning “daughter of the wind”.

And indeed this delicate-looking flower always seems to hold her own.

An example to us humans — for those times when we’re buffeted by the strong winds of life.

But I digress.

Blog Photo - anemone Bloom 2

I love Miss Anemone for showing up in her gentle colours just as most of the other flowers in my Canadian garden have faded.

A reminder that patience is a virtue and that every late bloomer has its day in the sun.

Blog Photo - anemone Bloom 4

Or, as my Jamaican ancestors would say: “Every dog has his day, and every puss his 9 o’clock”. 

I tell you – my beloved people had a saying for every single thing. Some of which I’m still trying to figure out.

No wonder I digress so often.


Dedicated, with thanks, to Les and Sandra, from whose flowerbeds came our anemone and several of the other flowers in our garden.