Slow Flowers. Debra Prinzing

that it’s impossible, or at least tricky, to find enough beautiful ingredients in one’s own garden or region during certain times of the year for creating interesting seasonal floral arrangements. Taking the Do-it-Yourself designer’s point of view, I want to disprove that notion by making a bouquet-a-week – all year long. My goal is to inspire others to create personal bouquets with what’s at hand, if only they begin to see what’s around them with new eyes.

      I launched the project then and there, and continued it for 52 weeks. As each season unfolded, so too did my passion for floral design. My experiment turned into a season-by-season, week-by-week book of ideas and inspiration for gardeners and DIY floral designers.

      Why Slow Flowers?

      The idea for the title of this book emerged organically. We had used the term “slow flowers” as part of the marketing for The 50 Mile Bouquet – and to our surprise, nearly every major newspaper and magazine that reviewed the book picked up on it as a reference to a cultural shift in consumer attitudes toward local, seasonal and sustainably-grown flowers.

      So when editor Cathy Dees and publisher Paul Kelly and I got serious about finding a book title, Slow Flowers seemed like the “just-right” description of my one-year floral design experiment. Thanks to the culinary pioneers who popularized the Slow Food movement, it now seems like you can put “slow” in front of any term to convey a different philosophy or approach to that subject. When I say the phrase “slow flowers,” there are those who immediately understand it to mean: I have made a conscious choice.

      My blooms, buds, leaves and vines are definitely in season; not, for example, grown and brought in from elsewhere in the world during the wet, cold winter months in my hometown of Seattle. So, come December and January, my commitment to sourcing locally-grown floral materials sends me to the conifer boughs, colored twigs and berry-producing evergreens – and the occasional greenhouse-grown rose, lily or tulip, just to satisfy my hunger for a bloom.

      Slow Flowers (the concept and the book) is also about the artisanal, anti-mass-market approach to celebrations, festivities and floral gifts of love. I value my local sources. If not clipped from my own shrubs or cutting garden, I want to know where the flowers and greenery were grown, and who grew them. Having a relationship with the grower who planted and nurtured each flower is nothing short of magical. I call so many flower farmers around the country my friends. They are the unsung heroes – the faces behind the flowers we love.

      Finally, Slow Flowers reflects life lived in the slower lane. My family, friends and professional colleagues know that it’s almost impossible for me to do anything slowly. I’m the queen of multitasking; I just can’t help myself. There are too many exciting opportunities (or bright, shiny objects) that command my interest. But this “year in flowers” was altogether different. I can only compare it to the practice of praying or meditating. I didn’t realize that those few hours I spent each week, gathering and choosing petals and stems, arranging them in a special vessel, and then figuring out where and how to capture the finished design through my camera lens, would be so personally enriching.

      I used all my senses. Unplugged, away from electronic distractions, I studied the form, line, texture, subtle color and utter uniqueness of each stem. What a gift to slow down and experience the moment. I don’t know much about ikebana, the Japanese art of arranging flowers, but I understand that silence and contemplation of nature are part of its practice. I experienced something similar. Slow Flowers forced me to work at a decidedly different pace as I embraced creativity, fearlessly.

      I learned about my own preferences, design style and ability to look at the world of floral ingredients in an unconventional way. I learned that I really am a floral designer. Like me, you don’t have to earn a certificate from the London School of Floral Design to create seasonally-inspired bouquets. You can find local blooms in your or your friend’s garden, or from the fields, meadows and farm stands of local flower growers. Each bouquet tells a story about one moment in time, about Grandmother’s cherished flower vase or the fleeting memory that returns with a whiff of lavender or lilac. That’s one of the intangible gifts of bringing flowers into our lives.

      I love the old-fashioned definition of a Florist, appropriately portrayed on a flower shop sign I noticed on a visit to Chicago: “One in the business of raising or selling flowers and ornamental plants.” It underscores my belief that if you grow flowers and ornamental plants, you can also arrange them.

      Gardeners are especially qualified in the art of floral design. After all, we have an intimate relationship with our plants, their bloom cycle, their natural form and character – and their seasonality. We also know what colors and textures we like when combined in the landscape. A vase can be a little garden, its contents gathered and arranged to please the eye.

      So give it a try. Design a bouquet. Channel your inner floral designer and begin your own year with slow flowers.

      . . . sweet flowers are slow . . .

      William Shakespeare

      

       SPRING

      . . . And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

      – Algernon Charles Swinburne

      Just in time, spring arrives. The quiet, monochromatic days of winter are slowly nudged aside by bright, polychromatic blooms, fresh green foliage that seems to unfurl before your very eyes, and the wonderful smell of bare earth, ready to be cultivated. Thank goodness I planted spring-flowering tulip, daffodil and hyacinth bulbs last autumn!

      This season, the floral designer’s palette relies on pure and pastel hues, delicate flower forms and verdant fronds, blades and tendrils. Bouquet-making can be as simple as gathering a few stems in a bud vase – the perfect way to enliven a room and lift the spirit. Or they can be lush and full – an antidote to winter and a welcome to the gardener’s season.

      These organically-grown tulips and a few fragrant hyacinths are enough to take your breath away – delighting tourists and locals alike at Seattle’s Pike Place Market. Gretchen Hoyt and Ben Craft of Alm Hill Gardens in Bellingham, Washington, raise the flowering bulbs in sheltering hoop houses, which help to warm the climate by a few degrees.

      SPRING | WEEK 1

       TULIPS & TWIGS

      WHENEVER I BRING A TULIP BUNCH home from the grocery store or farmers’ market, my first inclination is to drop them into a tall, clear glass vase. The art of arranging tulips couldn’t be easier than that!

      Then again, these primary-colored tulips call for something livelier than generic glass. My lime-green flea market urn is perfect; its color value is the same intensity as the flowers. My design challenge? Filling the vase’s 6-inch-wide opening so my tulips remain upright rather than flopping over.

      The solution: A dome-shaped flower frog. When placed in the base of the vessel, it is all that’s needed to keep the flowers erect. The metal frog measures 4½ inches in diameter and is 2 inches high with ½-inch square openings.

      To create this arrangement, I added all the red tulips first, cutting the stems short to draw attention to the egg-shaped flowers. Notice that the heights are slightly varied for interest. Vivid yellow tulips create a second tier, their longer stems and more slender flower heads hovering above.

      Together, the tulips and the vase make a bold, graphic statement. The organic branches and twigs soften the design. Curly willow is placed irregularly, seeming to embrace the entire arrangement. As final touch,