Bleeding Hearts: The Keepsake Bouquet

I am sitting on a favorite bench— cast iron formed to resemble leaf and twining vine— contemplating the bleeding hearts that appear for a brief time each springtime in our garden. There are silver droplets on the finely divided foliage, crystalline beads clinging to the striking pendant flowers, a poetic recollection of overnight rain. Once upon a time, these bleeding hearts grew beneath a hemlock by a creaky wooden gate in our New Jersey garden, graceful arches of blooms in harmony with draping hemlock boughs, nodding in dappled sunlight and bearing silent witness to our family story unfolding in the cozy backyard: Ben diligently pushing a toy lawn mower, racing diecast cars down the Bilco door, catching a football and zig-zagging down the imaginary stadium field— a hibachi cookout, some digging and delving, sunset through the gnarled branches of the unfurling oak tree, listening for the owl at dusk. These bleeding hearts have travelled many miles: we dug them up, divided them, and drove them across the state line to plant in our new Lancaster County garden. And they bloom in the here and now, in the shelter of the magnolia and the maple, near the bench where I often sit with memory.

I remember bleeding hearts from long-ago spring times, bleeding hearts blooming on Sunday afternoons in a quiet corner of Grandma Wolfe's garden. They caught the eyes and captured the imaginations of sisters and cousins: bony-kneed and breathless, we would pause to gaze upon fanciful chains of fuchsia and white charm-hearts before continuing our play— performing musicals, solving mysteries, climbing welcoming trees, seeking hidden treasure— boundless childhood ramblings across a rolling expanse of Pennsylvania lawn. 

Here in the garden after the rain, sitting on the favorite bench and holding counterpoised measures of joy and sorrow collected across time, it seems that bleeding hearts are perfectly suited to reflection and bittersweet remembrance. Through their fleet yet perennial season, they are a keepsake bouquet pressed heart to heart, moment to moment to memory. — B.

Bleeding Hearts

to walk

through the garden

after a gentle rain,

pendant-flowers dressed in crystal

droplet,

to find

suspended charms

of childhood memory,

to sit

in colloquy

and wordless poetry,

to press

each tender bloom

between parchment pages

of remembrance, ephemeral

keepsakes,

bringing joy and bearing sorrow

in time.

— B.

The bleeding heart (Lamprocapnos spectabilis) is a plant that is both lovely and beloved. Native to Asia, it was introduced to western gardeners in the Victorian era and quickly became a popular favorite throughout Europe and North America. In full bloom, it is an attention-getter, with whimsical flowers dangling from its stems like heart-shaped pendants in shades of pink and white. The bleeding heart seems to reach out to the child in each of us— the flower has inspired a trove of stories shared from generation to generation. There are folk tales of the flower representing Cinderella dressing for the ball, a fairy princess in a bath, an old woman and an orphaned child, and a tragedy of unrequited love. 

Many of us have memories of playing amongst the bleeding hearts blooming in friends’ or family gardens when we were small, possibly picking the flowers— and likely being cautioned about the plant’s toxicity. Because the plant is perennial, hardy, and divides well, some are fortunate to have a bleeding heart growing now that came from a garden they walked through as a child. But whether a generational plant, a newly grown plant, or just a fond recollection of a plant, the bleeding heart carries a message of love that transcends time. — D.

Most adults have fond childhood memories set in and around neighborhood yards, gardens, parks, woods, or waterfronts. Collecting and playing with items found in nature is an almost-universal childhood activity.  Sticks, shells, pebbles, wildflowers, leaves, dirt, grass, sand, mud – all hold the potential for endless imaginative play. When experiences cross cultures and generations like this, it points to their power and significance. Can you recall a childhood experience of seeking treasures outdoors? What setting were you in? Who was with you? What were you hoping to find? What did you find? Can you remember what you did with the items you found? Is there any specific item that held special meaning for you? If you can, take a walk with someone you love and create a new memory. — D.

After your roses have been located, take some of the remaining space for some of the good, old-fashioned flowers our grandmothers loved— bleeding hearts, chimney pinks, four-o’clocks, sweet alyssum, and pansies.

— Pictorial Review, “Pocket Handkerchief Yards," Vol. 4 (5), May 1903