Sophie's Peonies

My Midwestern family is big on peonies. They bloom reliably in late May at my childhood home. The bed along the south-facing brick wall overflows with perennial blossoms sprung from perfect sandy loam, 14 feet deep as my fifth-grade geography teacher assured us.

These are legacy peonies, handed down through generations. Sadie's peonies are the silky pink ones, Sadie being the next-door neighbor to my maternal grandmother but also the best friend of my paternal grandmother. Her peonies have been replanted in my sisters' gardens in Wisconsin, mine in Oregon, and soon will be to my daughter's in Portland. They accompany Great-Grandma Emma's bright whites and Great-Uncle Frank's garnet reds. Yes, I have added to my legacy peonies with variegated hybrids, with names like Soir de Paris or oddly sumptuous peachy colors, but these ancestral versions give me the greatest joy with their dependable show.