God Is In The Details

Reflections from the White Picket Farm LLC Home & Gardens (A bit lengthy, but relevant.)

Each year, I share photos of the red peony I planted in tribute to my daddy. And each year, on his birthday—May 11th—I hope nature gifts me a blood-red bloom. My mom always looked forward to that first blossom because I brought it to her.

Today’s post is a peony memorial to my mom.

Peonies have been my favorite flower for as long as I can remember. As a little girl, I knew them as “cemetery flowers.” My daddy called them pineys—stretching out the "I" and the "E" like only he could.

I often hear people dismiss peonies:

“They’re too short-lived.”

“They make a mess.”

“The rain ruins the bloom before you can enjoy it.”

“They attract ants.”

And just to clarify, the ant theory—that peonies need ants to bloom—isn’t true. The blooms open just fine on their own. But ants are drawn to the sweet nectar and may help by fending off other pests.

Here’s the thing: the very reasons some avoid peonies are the very reasons I adore them.

I love the anticipation—the way their giant, bulbous buds slowly unfurl into fragrant blossoms. I check them daily, savoring every stage, because I know they won't last. One hot day, a surprise frost, strong winds, or a downpour can scatter their petals in an instant.

But because I know their beauty is fleeting—I cherish them.

Peonies mirror life.

We eagerly await the bulging belly that brings forth a new life.

We clean up childhood messes, knowing another is just behind it.

We protect our loved ones from life’s storms as best we can.

We celebrate milestones—joyful, yet bittersweet as time passes.

And just like peonies, life is temporary and messy. It’s full of heartbreak and struggle. But when we shift our focus to the blessings—the blooms—we see the gift.

After many frustrating attempts, I finally succeeded in growing a peony from a tuber. I told my mom it would be a special one. The first year it gave me just one bloom—the year she passed. Last year, there were none. But I didn’t give up. I cut it back, treated it for disease, and this year… my Coral Charm is magnificent.

She bloomed on April 30th—my grandmother’s birthday. My mom’s mom.

God is in the details.

I’ve been quietly weathering some storms of life. But this coral beauty reminded me—straight from the Master Gardener—there is an eternity where the roses never fade.

Here’s to you, Momma.

“The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.”

—Isaiah 40:8 (NIV)

*Photos from bud to fading bloom.

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