The tiniest little buds have appeared on our peony bushes.

These were a first anniversary gift to Steve and me from his parents. They grow from rootstock that used to live outside Steve's childhood home, some of which was transplanted from his grandmother's home. There is an added level of anxiety, I'm finding, in transplanting heirloom plants such as these. I feel such an emotional connection to the story of their origin that it would be a double affront if they failed to thrive. But, luckily these are thriving.

I love peonies. I love that they can live for over 50 years. I love that Steve and I both remember them fondly from our childhoods. They are what I carried on our wedding day. I love how soft and delicate they look, but how hardy they really are. I think that no matter where we end up, these peonies will always be with us.

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