Let us give thanks and praise for flowers

Those who live at or near my latitude – our farm lies at 44 degrees North, which means we can have as many as 44 weeks of winter – may recall that a few short months ago we would have given a major body part just to see green grass. This caused many of us to develop a troubling addiction to the Golf Channel.

But nowadays, a casual glance out the window reveals glorious green to the far horizon. Depending on your point of view, you may think, "Wow, that lawn looks great!" or "Wow, it looks like I need to mow again!"

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Next to many houses are flowerbeds. Who doesn't like flowers? Even the manliest man will have to admit that few things are prettier than an armful of roses, especially if you didn't have to pick them yourself and avoided getting an armful of punctures.

The first flower encounter I recall took place when I was a little kid. I was sitting on the lawn near our farmhouse when a dandelion caught my eye. Its blossom was as yellow as freshly churned butter, but what really interested me was the bee that had alighted on the flower.

I thought it would be cool to have a pet bee, so I decided to catch it. I succeeded on my very first try.

The bee repaid my kindness by stabbing her stinger into my thumb. Mom, who was weeding a nearby flowerbed, heard my howls and rushed to my aid. Thinking quickly, she mixed a small amount of dirt with water and applied a mudpack to my injury.

It must have worked because I'm here to tell the tale. Mom said later that a slice of raw onion would have worked better, but she was afraid I would have eaten the medicine. I have a deep fondness for onions.

The easiest flowers to grow are perennials, mainly because they don't need much attention. The peonies next to our house are bushy enough to hide a Shetland pony and produce bushels of Technicolor flowers. Those plants were originally planted by my grandparents and have bloomed each spring without fail for more than six decades. I do nothing for the peonies, and they reward my neglect with a bounty of blossoms.

People have asked me the secret to growing such a profusion of peonies. Just leave them alone, I guess.

My favorite flowers are lilacs. Their blossoms are tiny, but their scent is heavenly. Sadly, lilac blossoms last for only a few days before they fade. They are an allegory for life: something that's brief and incredibly sweet and needs to be savored every possible moment. Grace begets gratitude.

I was toking lilac perfume this spring when I caught sight of an incredibly gorgeous butterfly that was sipping nectar, so I snapped an Instagrammable photo. This insect encounter was much more pleasant than my run-in with the bee.

Tiger lilies are another hardy perennial. Mom planted a few tiger lilies on the north side of her house many years ago. Their tubers have since multiplied and crept ever outward from the house, as if it's their mission to take over the entire planet.

I have spaded up a few tiger lily roots and transplanted them to some undisclosed locations in our road ditch. The lilies have survived and may soon start blooming. I like the idea of surprise flowers suddenly appearing.

My wife's former job consisted of doing data entry in a windowless cubical. I couldn't imagine a worse punishment than spending hours beneath the glare of florescent lights and not being able to see outside.

Because I felt so badly for my wife, I would randomly surprise her by sending flowers to her at work. The floral arrangements never failed to attract the attention of and comments from my wife's female coworkers. I was told the flowers generated no small amount of envy. It's entirely possible a few husbands were later given the cold shoulder due to their perceived lack of romance and sensitivity, a situation that could only be rectified via a surprise floral arrangement delivered to the workplace.

To my fellow husbands: sorry about that, guys! On the other hand, maybe you should think about showing your significant other some consideration by making sure she receives fresh flowers every so often.

Which reminds me: it's time for me to go out by our house and cut some peonies and irises and arrange them in a vase before my wife returns from her shopping expedition.

About the Author: Jerry Nelson and his wife, Julie, live in Volga, South Dakota, on the farm that Jerry's great-grandfather homesteaded in the 1880s. Daily life on that farm provided fodder for a long-running weekly newspaper column, "Dear County Agent Guy," which became a book of the same name. The book is available at Workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.