A New Camera for Peony Season

The front garden.  Ox-eye daisies, peonies, and roses.

                My camera died this spring, most inconveniently during spring flowering season.   It was a Canon Power Shot SX150 DX, the first digital camera I’d bought for myself, and I’d gotten some wonderful shots with it.  I’d consulted my niece Jennifer, who is a photographer, and she said it was a good camera, but suggested I go up to the next level.  I am sorry to say that the next level sounded a bit too complicated for my comfort level and I chickened out.  The 150 was a good camera and it lasted me a long time, but it finally got tired of being dropped in the garden too many times and refused to work.  I carried it around in the front pouch of my garden sweatshirt, and it was always sliding out. That left me with only film cameras which I was not inclined to use. I was used to the instant gratification of being able to see my pictures right away, and fiddle with them.

                Frank lent me his little HP Photosmart M537, the same model as my first digital camera, and I made do with it for a while.  Since the community center was closed due to the Covid-19 epidemic, I wasn’t working and couldn’t afford to buy a new camera.  I thought I’d pick right back up with the HP, but found it hard to get used to.  The view screen is less than half the size of the SX 150, and my eyesight is certainly not as good as it was when I’d last used the Photosmart, so I had a lot of trouble getting my shots in focus.  Some came out quite well, but most were fuzzy to say the least.

                Tired of listening to my frustration, my husband presented me with an early anniversary present.  A new camera!  A wonderful new camera!  It is a Canon Power Shot SX 420 DX, and as I immediately discovered, it is hard to take a bad picture with it.  After the obligatory pictures of Frank giving me the finger (my children hate having their pictures taken), my dresser and my cat, I took it out to the garden.  The timing of the gift was perfect, as I received it at the height of peony season.  These were taken on June 17, the first batch of pictures I took with the new camera.  (No, I am not going to post that picture of Frank.)  And, by the way, Jennifer approves of it.

                This is in the eastern half of my front garden.  That’s Venetian Blue Speedwell (veronica spicata), an ox-eye daisy, an unknown pink peony (the label got lost), and rhubarb.  Yes, the speedwell really is that blue, that heart-string tugging blue of a cloudless midday sky.  There are two plants, and I think they may be big enough to divide this fall, so I can spread the joy.

                A close-up of that unknown pink peony, which I got the last time I went to the Boston Flower and Garden Show.  I bought five of them from the Peony’s Envy booth, and, as I said, most of the labels got mixed up, except for blush Minuet, which is planted in a different part of the garden.  This could be Silver-Daubed, Lady Alexandra Duff, or Catharina Fontijn.  My guess, from the pictures on the labels, which I have kept, is that it is Lady Alexandra Duff.  But I wouldn’t swear to it.  If anyone has a better identification, I would be happy to be enlightened.

                This is the Peony Path, along the east side of the house.  On the left is the peony that was sold to me as Sarah Bernhart, which it obviously isn’t.  On the right is what is supposed to be Edulis Superba, which I didn’t think was supposed to be such a dark pink.  Do we sense a pattern here?  But the supposed Edulis Superba does smell heavenly, so I am happily resigned to that one.  Beyond it is Monsieur Jules Elie, then Reine Hortense, Virginia Mary (which I got in honor of my friend Virginia), Amabilis, then three unknowns given me by a friend – two single pinks and a double white, then, at the very end, white Annemieke and red Katharine.  Most of them are scented, because, really, what is the point of a peony without any scent?  It’s like a rose without a scent.  Something vital is missing, and one feels cheated.

                A closer look at the Peony Path, with, bottom to top, Reine Hortense, Virginia Mary, Amabilis, and, way in the back, Annemieke .  I had to take up part of the path to dig up the lilies-of-the-valley that took over the purple and white bed on the  left side of the path, then grew through and under the path and into the peonies.  I love lilies-of-the-valley, and mine are heirlooms, dug up about thirty years ago from my husband’s grandmother’s summer camp in Sandwich.  I was pleased that my few little plants grew into a nice big bed until, a couple of years ago, they suddenly went Rogue, and started taking over, squeezing other plants out.  Digging them out was real labor because their roots grow deep and intertwine and tangle into heavy mats.  I spent days digging them out last year, only to find that they apparently took that as a challenge and reclaimed  some of last year’s lost ground.  Perhaps if I plant some in places under the stone wall they’ll drive out that nasty, invasive Japanese vine that refuses to be gotten rid of.

In the front yard, looking down the path between the front border (right), and the front garden (left).

                The Ville de Lyon clematis climbing the bird feeder pole has bloomed like crazy all summer, and still has a few blooms on it today, a month and a half after this was taken.  Beyond it, along the path, are peonies Karl Rosenfield, Festiva Maxima, and Bunker Hill.  Moonstone is hidden by Bunker Hill.  The two peonies at left center, above the mysterious unknown,looking like they're right beside the road, are pink Hermione and white Duchesse de Nemours.  I love the old names, especially the French ones.  There’s so much romance in those names, like there is in the names of old roses.

                I am trying to figure out where I can put more peonies.  The Fall Gilbert Wild catalog arrived several weeks ago.  I’m trying to restrain myself and Be Responsible, but there are several peonies in the the catalog that I really like.  Being Responsible is a Good Thing.  But where flowers and books are concerned it’s no fun.  Perhaps if I go out to the garden and count all the peonies I already have (I lose track trying to count in my head) I’ll be so appalled at the number I’ll throw away the catalog....  No, I don’t think that’s very likely to happen, either.