I made the above tulip graphic myself! Click here to check it out on Etsy.
Friends, it’s been a strange time, not least because of my mother’s passing. But I’ve taken some time and that’s really helped! So now, I want to start the first of a series of posts about the folklore of romance—specifically flower folklore, because what’s not to love?
Let’s start with tulips, which, by the way, used to SCARE THE DUCK OUT OF ME!
Duck: You had a duck inside of you? And that duck was scared out of you? You have to tell me these things, Star, otherwise how will I succeed at my duck audits?
—Duck
Great point, as always. Anyway, when I was a kid, I loved tulips until they started to wilt. You know how they get when the petals tumble open and the stamen inside pokes out like a spiked, angry insect? In case you don’t, here’s a pic, with thanks to Canva. The tulip on the far left is exactly what I’m talking about. How is that not LOOKING TO BITE MY NOSE OFF?
Now picture me, aged five, running in the OPPOSITE direction of these
burgeoning flowers and possibly tripping over my shoe laces in the process.
Anyway, today my adult self did a little digging. (On the net. Not in the garden. The last time I shoveled any non-snow materials was somewhere around 1862.) And apparently, in Ancient Persia the tulip was considered the flower of love. (Thank you to tulipmania.art for this elegant rendition of the story.) Below is my own retelling—after all, ancient stories were made to be retold.
Farhad, bless his soul, was in love with Princess Shirin whose father was having none of it. He wasn’t going to let his daughter marry “just anyone,” and I’m guessing poor Farhad, being at the mercy of classism, had a job working, say, for the IRS, Heinz Baked Beans, or a turnip-based microwave meal startup, all of which are obviously VERY respectable trades. Anyway, Dad was not impressed. That’s why he told the open-hearted Farhad to do one simple thing to prove his love: Cut a passage through A MOUNTAIN to make a stream flow all the way through to the palace.
I’m pretty sure Princess Shirin was vehemently against this whole plan.
Anyway, Farhad’s heart was a powerful one. HE ACTUALLY DID THE MOUNTAIN-DIGGING THING. He made a WHOLE STREAM FLOW THROUGH A MOUNTAIN. It was a feat of landscape gardening the likes of which we’ve NEVER SEEN BEFORE.
Okay, if you like your stories to have HEAs, you might want to stop here, my friends. Let’s just say, Shirin’s dad did not have access to intersectional feminism.
You see, after Farhad’s mammoth romantic deed, he was probably a bit sweaty. Anyway, Shirin’s dad, the king, decided to tell Farhad that it was no use because Shirin had died. (As in many folktales from all over the world, the lies are appalling. All this, while the king now has a STREAM THAT FLOWS INTO HIS HOUSE VIA A MOUNTAIN.) Anyway, in his grief, poor Farhad threw himself over the side of the mountain and as his body hit the rocks on the way down, he released drops of blood that became tulips. Such was the magic of his love for Shirin. And so, in this tradition, the flower’s love story was born.
Poor Shirin. I hope she liked tulips.
Anyway, after an ending like that, you can kind of see why an intuitive yet
petrified kid like me would RUN LIKE THUNDER away from tulips, can’t you? Luckily, these days, I actually think they’re stunning. Those long, lethargic petals and gently bobbling flower-heads are so bluesy and romantic. It makes sense that they’re flowers of love.
Two lips, you say? I prefer two beaks. Very romantic. You can even put a flower in each beak-hole, if you’re feeling it. —Duck
How can I top that? I send you tulips and all kinds of marital consent, my friends. Hope you’re having a great week!
Romancey Pants 