This one’s from the florist — chrysanthemum, pussy willow, a bit of pine and thistle for texture. And as far as I can tell, it’s the last bunch of flowers I ever paid for.
By November the garden itself is mostly finished, and buying something to fill that gap felt like the obvious move at the time. What changed my mind wasn’t some big decision — it was noticing how much better the cut-your-own bunches felt the rest of the year, and how little they cost. A florist bouquet like this one runs to real money, every single week, for something that’s dead again within days. The garden version is free, it’s usually stranger and more interesting looking, and cutting it takes about the same five minutes it takes to pick a vase.
These days the gap just stays a gap. No flowers on the table for a few months over winter isn’t a loss — it makes the first cut branch in spring mean a lot more.