The courts of England owe their style to it, as well as their charm and a shabby-chic look copied the world over. Nothing less. The delphinium is to the edging of English flower gardens what the clown is to class photos: the indispensable head that stands out from the crowd. It's the disruptive element that's always at the back of the line, with its great height (up to 2 meters!) − the vanishing point that binds the group together. A happy camper, the buttercup's distant cousin, also known as "larkspur," adapts to its audience and proves easy to live with.
This is not a butterfly. Nor is it a spider. Nor is it a lily, though it has long passed itself off as one. The Malabar lily, or Gloriosa superba, is a colchicaceae. Poisonous from head to root, fiery like a precious jewel. In the wild, the official flower of India's Tamil Nadu state climbs like a vine. In a vase, Zimbabwe's national flower tumbles like a flowing train.
At this time of year, not many plants thrive in the rain. The chrysanthemum is one that does: Enamored of gray mornings and shorter days, it's always ready to brighten up a hallway. As punctual as a Swiss clock, this cousin of the queen daisy has become a funerary version of the wreath.
It's got nothing to hide, and it owns this fact. Caladium Pink Symphony shows everything and attracts the eye. "It's a living curiosity that can be explored from the outside," said an enthusiastic Adrien Saint, of Studio Plantes, Strasbourg (eastern France). Its translucent pink leaves, as thin as rolling paper, expose the tiniest of their green veins, revealing the sap that flows through them.
It's the wood from which great men have been made. Or rather, from which their closest supports have been carved: Goethe's walking stick, Harry Potter's magic wand. In other words, holly can be both reliable and sturdy. "In Pennsylvania, in the US, there's one in every garden," said Pierre Paris, founder of the Jardin arboretum d'Ilex, in Meung-sur-Loire (central France), lamenting that the tradition hasn't crossed the Atlantic Ocean.
They've fallen for it again, just as they do at the end of every year: After four weeks in the dark at 4 or 5°C, all it takes is a month of warmth and light for hyacinths to think it's their turn, and they start to grow. They could stay underground for a few more months. But, when tricked into growing, "the hyacinth is one of the flowers you can have at Christmas," said Matthieu Velé, head of the horticultural company Ernest Turc.
Translation of an original article published in French on lemonde.fr; the publisher may only be liable for the French version.