Anxious sifting through picked-over piles of roses, squashed together, 12 at a time, and mass-produced in faraway lands . . .
Racks of disheveled cards with canned messages from total strangers. . .
Fancy boxes with a few morsels of mush with chocolate veneers. . .
Restaurants overwhelmed with patrons — two at each table. . .
Bleary-eyed florists, thankful that this most absurd of holiday deadlines is nearing an end. . .
But love is in the air . . . right? It’s the thought that counts . . . right? Indeed. Let’s not disrespect such an occasion. But can we make it more loving and thoughtful, at least when it comes to those dozen roses?
Towards this noble end, I hereby declare that:
The Valentine’s celebration is now in summer. It may be celebrated any day; or any days; or every day. (No procrastinating until the equinox).
For those of us on the top half of the world, those dozen roses at the neighborhood big box were most likely grown indoors somewhere in the southern hemisphere. They have never been outdoors; never seen sunlight; never been visited by a bee. They have been sprayed, drenched, or dunked in pesticides, fungicides, preservatives, dyes. And don’t bother smelling them. The scent has been bred away. As for their carbon footprint, the flowers are grown indoors (greenhouse gas emissions); intensively managed with inputs of chemicals (emissions); bundled into layers of protective packaging (emissions); shipped with refrigeration halfway around the world (emissions), and retailed in a lighted, heated building in the middle of winter (emissions). Doesn’t the global economy just rock? Compare this to some locally grown flowers in summer. The flowers are grown outside by the sun and rain, put in a bucket of water, and transported a few miles to a farmer’s market. They are available in a riot of shapes, sizes, colors and scents. To be sure, some inputs and transportation emissions are inevitable, but the contrast of carbon footprints is stark.
In her books, The 50 Mile Bouquet (2012) and Slow Flowers (2013), Debra Prinzing encourages the local production and consumption of cut flowers. Floral decor from local sources in winter is achieved through the use of branches, berries, and the like — and blooms from forced bulbs or local greenhouses. This is a fine approach for the local economy, and particularly for the climates of California and the Pacific Northwest (the geographies in Debra’s book). But the idea of browsing around outside for twigs in an Iowa February is rather daunting; and sometimes impossible (think blizzard). And a summer celebration with flowers need not incur the carbon footprint of greenhouses.
Florists and other purveyors of flowers in the ides of February need not fear. Would it not be a blessing to diminish the mad rush of February 14th, and substitute a more leisurely stroll through increased sales for a whole summer? Good riddance to a single-day deadline for a highly perishable, out-of-season luxury item.
So how about it? Join us. Celebrate Valentine’s for the whole summer — pick a day, or all the days. Support your local economy. Reduce your carbon footprint. Create a better world for your Valentine and those who will follow. What could be more loving and thoughtful than that?
Cindy, will you be my summer Valentine?*
— Matthew Bailey
*(She said yes)