There is a reason why the humble iris was so loved by my grandmother. "Common" they say. I say resilient, hardy, forgiving and in bloom decadent as dark chocolate and fine espresso.
I cannot look at the iris and not remember her garden of iris, and her carefully quarantined blossoms that held the hopes of an improved color, shape or vigor.
I am sure I owe some of my obsessive behavior to her and her iris collection.
(click the picture to enlarge)
