May in The Cutting Garden

There’s something especially rewarding about May in the cutting garden.

After months of watching new shoots emerge, staking stems against spring winds, and quietly hoping everything has survived another winter, the garden finally begins to feel abundant again. The hedgerows soften into green, the evenings stretch longer, and every morning there seems to be something new opening.

But this year, it’s the peonies.

The very same peonies I planted four years ago, back when the cutting garden still felt more like an idea than a reality, have finally come into their own. Anyone who grows peonies will know they require patience. The first few years can feel painfully slow, with little reward for all the waiting, watering, and protecting from late frosts. And then suddenly, almost overnight, they flourish.

This May they have been extraordinary.

Huge ruffled blooms in the softest blush tones, creamy whites, and delicate shell pinks, swaying heavily in the rain one day and glowing in the evening light the next. There’s something incredibly special about cutting flowers you have nurtured yourself and seeing them become part of someone’s wedding story. This weekend, many of these peonies will leave the garden and head into one of our weddings, woven amongst other beautiful seasonal flowers and foliage.

I still find that part slightly surreal.

I should probably say here that I don’t consider myself a flower grower in the way many truly talented growers are. In fact, I rarely share the cutting garden on here because there are so many people far more knowledgeable and skilled than I am whose flowers I use constantly in my work. The British flower-growing community is full of extraordinary people dedicating their lives to producing the most beautiful seasonal stems, often in incredibly challenging conditions, and I will always champion buying from them first.

Our garden has never been about becoming a large-scale grower. Instead, it has become a quieter, more personal part of Wizz & Wild. A place to experiment, to learn slowly, to grow varieties I love, and to stay connected to the seasonality that sits at the heart of everything we create. My wonderful (and very green-fingered) mother-in-law has been planting in the cutting garden this year.

Some years, things thrive. Other years, they completely fail.

There are weeds I never quite get on top of, flowers eaten by slugs overnight, and entire trays of seedlings that simply refuse to germinate despite my best efforts. But perhaps that’s also part of why I love it. The garden has taught me patience in a way few other things do. You cannot rush flowers. You simply work alongside the seasons and hope they meet you halfway.

And in May, they usually do.

This month has felt especially beautiful in the garden. The first foxgloves are beginning to open, cow parsley is spilling through the hedgerows, and the sweet peas are finally starting to climb with purpose. Everything feels soft around the edges after the brightness of early spring. A little wilder. A little looser.

The peonies may only flower for a fleeting moment each year, but perhaps that’s exactly what makes them feel so special when they finally arrive.