Peonies

“Mum hates peonies,” I said as I picked another black ant off a long stem and carelessly flung it to the floor.

“No, she hates ants” My grandmother corrected me as she rearranged the same seven peonies in a vase over and over again.

“We will de-ant these ones and you can bring them home to her”

“Why do peonies have so many ants?” I asked, flicking another one off the table in the garage.

“See those peonies over there? The ones that haven’t bloomed yet, they have a waxy coating protecting their petals.”

I glance over at the bush across the open door of the garage. Big white globes hung heavily. They looked very different from the fluffy white flowers my grandmother was arranging and I was “de-anting” The ones that were open looked like fluffy ballet tutus but prettier.

She continued

“The black ants, which remember we like, eat the wax off the buds and that makes it so the peony can open and all its lovely petals can finally show. The ants make their home in and near the bush so you have to make sure you don’t bring any inside. Or more importantly, inside your mother’s house.”

“Why doesn’t mum like ants?” I asked almost sarcastically

“I suppose she doesn’t understand them, a lot of people don’t care for ants. They don’t bother me any. Ants are good citizens: they place group interests first, it is nice to be on their team. Just you don’t want them at your picnic”

I laughed.

The seven peonies in the vase over the course of our conversation had become the most beautiful piece of art I had ever seen. She could do that, take a beautiful flower and make it even more breathtaking by placing it among others. The peonies looked better as a group, with their droopy necks and filagree fancy petals they leaned and abutted one another in a gorgeous geometry that she crafted. She had begun to move on to the green filler pieces when I looked down and saw an ant crawling on my arm. I carefully walked over to the peony bush across from the garage and let the ant onto a leaf. Group interest first.