A Basket of Blue Irises

I don’t know where all these irises came from.

Well — a few of the small ones, I know. Years ago I found them growing near my neighbor’s house up on the ridge. I dug up a handful and brought them down here, where they’ve bloomed faithfully ever since.

But the big blue ones are another story.

They appeared near the fire pit first. Then up by the old bee yard. Then farther down the mountain below the house, in places where I know they weren’t before. One spring there were none. The next, they were simply… here.

I’ve wondered if Hurricane Helene had something to do with it. After all the flooding and reshaping of the holler, maybe rhizomes washed downhill and settled into new places. Maybe they lay buried and waited for disturbance and light. Or maybe the mountain just keeps its own calendar, unconcerned with mine.

The timing feels strange — a year and a half later, and now this sudden abundance — but nature rarely explains herself in ways that satisfy us.

Regardless, this morning there were enough blooming that I could gather a whole basketful without making a dent in them. I clipped lemon balm too, and a loose fistful of sweet, leggy fleabane with its pink-and-white crowns nodding in every direction.

The house smells green now. Cool and peppery and faintly sweet.

And outside, more irises are opening.