I would choose Shirley poppies if I could have one small patch of poor soil and only one packet of seeds to plant on it.
Other gardeners may be enthusiastic about this delightful July flower, but I haven’t met any so far. “They’re too frail,” seems to be the main cry.
I haven’t found them so. Early each morning, while the dew is still sparkling on them, I cut the new blossoms, fighting the tiny bees for them.
The following day I am sure to find some crinkly petals around the base of the bowl, which seem to have been cut from silk crepe, but many of the blossoms will be suitable for another day. Seal the ends or burn them if you Iike, but it is unnecessary.
The plants look fragile. “Don’t transplant,” the directions on the packet advise you. But I have done so successfully. The seeds are so tiny that they lend to collect in clumps despite all precautions.
A pack of mixed seeds contains several varieties, so I do not thin out and discard the tiny plants. When they bloom, they offer unbelievably delicate and beautiful tiny flowers, often the size of the tip of a finger but just as ruffled and beautifully marked as the larger ones.
And strangely enough, these tiny ones seem to stand cutting better than some big ones. Often they will last for three or four days. I intersperse them with blue and pink bachelor buttons for a lovely effect in a heart-shaped, light green pottery vase.
They remind me of the peony blossoms on Chinese spice jars.
Cutting Shirleys
Some Shirleys are single, four-petaled, either of self-color or marked and edged with contrasting colors. Most of these grow on long, sturdy stems but do not stand cutting very well; they last only a day when cut and fall to pieces before the noon sun if left uncut.
But the real Shirleys, to my mind, is the double ones in delicate shades of pink, ranging from white through the shell, apricot, salmon, and rose—almost to magenta. Many of these have edgings of white on their ruffled skirts, and on some the petals curl into quill-like tubes.
When cut, they look well in a crystal vase. But this year, I have been putting mine into a handmade pottery bowl of turquoise blue and have added three or four lacy medallions of Queen Anne’s lace.
I find they lend themselves to arrangement far better in a reasonably lower bowl than in a fall vase, for most of the stems are less than a foot long. Other foliage must be added, for the lovely greenery of these plants is low-growing and is not intermingled with the flowers.
I find that the leaves of Queen Anne’s lace blend very nicely with the delicate texture of the poppies, but any other finely cut leaves which will survive cutting will be just as effective.
At the height of the season, 1 took my surplus to a neighbor who had said she didn’t want to bother with flowers that were so fragile and that had such a short growing season. (They last about three weeks in July in this country.)
But when she saw the blooms I had brought her, she gasped in surprise and delight and said, “Oh, how lovely! What on earth are they?”
Caring For Shirley Poppies
When she asked about the care of Shirley poppies, I hastened to explain that they grow in the poorest part of my garden. Where the soil is liberally mixed with coal ashes, also, they have endured the numerous rough-and-tumble, knock-down-and-drag-out fights of three kittens.
They have been beaten down and battered by several heavy rainstorms—beaten down and battered, but not conquered!
Their flower stems twist upward—sometimes with a double twist much like the twist in a pig’s tail—and they bloom! Each plant has several buds on its separate stem, not once but several times.
After the petals fall away, there remains the “pepper-shaker” seed pod, characteristic of the poppy family: if allowed to go to seed, the plants will seed themselves and come up the following year.
They are peculiar in that they like to be mistreated after planting. For example, a snowstorm that would kill zinnia seeds is what the Shirleys want. You can plant them in a February thaw and not worry about subsequent freezes.
How they ever got the reputation for being frail is beyond me. They are genuinely dawn flowers, reflecting the rosy hues of sunrise in their petals. In the very early morning, in the gray light, the plants show only fuzzy green buds. An hour later, sparkling with dew, the poppy bed is a mass of bloom.
Yes, I like my garden to bloom constantly, from the first scilla in spring to the last chrysanthemum in the sad days of fall. But if I had to choose—if I had to-1 think, I’d prefer my dainty little ballerina, the Shirley poppy.