There are certain bunches of flowers that linger like talismans in my mind. An armful of otherworldly amaranthus brought to a house party. The five fists of daffodils and bright-red, long-stemmed anemones wrapped in brown paper that came to my last book launch. Small handfuls of sweet peas left on the doorstep during my GCSEs by a kind neighbour in the village where I grew up.
It should be so simple, sending people flowers: wander into the nearest florist, hand over your credit card and an address, job done. But doing it well takes thought, not least because flowers can carry a far greater carbon footprint than many people realise: it has been calculated that your standard bunch of imported roses, lilies and gypsophila (all stems that are grown year-round in the Netherlands and Kenya) create more than 30kg of carbon emissions. That’s the equivalent of what a single tree can absorb, on average, in a year.
That’s before we get into the grave social and ecological impact of the pesticide and fertiliser use on industrial flower farms. The claims of “sustainability” and carbon neutrality on many mail-order flower subscription services frequently disguise where and how plants are grown.
Buying outdoor-grown British flowers cuts those emissions by up to 90%, and buying from your local flower farmer halves that again. I strongly recommend using the searchable map on flowersfromthefarm.co.uk.
Flowers hew to the seasons as closely as anything else we grow, so it makes sense to celebrate happy things – a baby, a graduation, a marriage, a new job – with those looking their best when the event happens. Last year, we warmed our friends’ new house with a peat-free geum ‘Tangerine Dream’; the couple had the same flowers at their wedding a couple of weeks earlier, and I liked the idea of it blooming in their garden each year as they celebrated both anniversaries.
I know of one family that marks new arrivals with a rose, but why not search for a plant that shares a new child’s name: a ‘Waltzing Mathilda’ dahlia, for instance, or a ‘Darcy’ clematis, which is happy to sit in a pot.
Back to the bouquets, though: if in doubt, speak to your florist, rather than just picking up a pre-made bunch. I love the ritual of watching something being pulled together from the buckets. Ask which flowers are fresh and where they came from, as you might in a fishmonger or good grocers. At their best, flowers can be Proustian: pesticide-free, locally grown and seasonal to the hour they were cut, they capture exactly what is blooming when that celebration happened. A bunch unique to that day alone.
