Poppies are beautiful, delicate things. They're gorgeous in a bouquet, but hard to maneuver without destroying their petals, and they don't last long. I once designed an arrangement centered around a truly gorgeous purple-grey poppy from a local farm, and by the time I was done designing, the petals had basically all fallen off. Such is the challenge of working with mother nature as your medium!  

Poppies have a rich history with many meanings and associations, including sleep, death, and remembrance. The plant in The Philosopher's Stem logo is based on a poppy, in part because of their beauty, and also because they have a few special meanings to me. 

California poppies are the state flower of California, and they remind me of my childhood on the west coast. They also make me think of the herb farm where I worked a few summers ago. This was where my herbalism practice really started to deepen. I remember looking at the rows of luminous, sunny blooms and being in awe. California poppies are known to herbalists for their ability to aid in rest and relaxation—I made a tincture that summer out of flowers I harvested on the farm, and it pretty much put me to sleep any time I took it at bedtime.

One of the things that fascinate me most about poppies is their radiance. Like the rows of California poppies that caught my attention at the farm, other poppies too have a translucent, almost effervescent quality that I find captivating. Being so vibrant and so fragile at the same time, they’re a powerful reminder of impermanence. Years ago, the impermanence of a medium like flowers would have frustrated me. What’s the point of creating something that is only going to last for a few days? Or a few hours? Now, I find a deeper meaning in creating something that is only enjoyed for a short season. Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean it needs to last forever. In fact, I think the ephemerality of flowers encourages us to enjoy them more, to really take them in while they’re still here. This is also why I love drawing plants and flowers—I love capturing them in the moment, that short period where they are full of life and light.

Finally, “Poppy” is also the name that I gave to my mom’s dad. I named him Poppy all by myself when I was very young, because "Grandpa" was apparently too hard to pronounce. I still call him Poppy to this day, and I have always been adamant that it is spelled like the flower.