Late spring in the southern Piedmont brings a pastel parade of bearded irises. I think of them as the great ladies -- the belles -- of the garden. Generations of Southern gardeners have grown and loved these flowers.

As a child, I first encountered irises in my grandmother's front garden. They were pale lavender and smelled like grape soda. Now I grow those, plus a rainbow assortment of others. Some are fancy two-toned beauties, others are delicate pastels, and one is the deep purple of a moonless sky at midnight. I leave many to adorn the garden, but I always bring in enough for a stunning indoor arrangement.

My favorite variety was given to me as a birthday present by my mother-in-law. While visiting us, she noticed me coveting this iris in one of the many plant catalogs I drool over every year. I couldn't justify the expense, sighed and put it aside. When I wasn't watching, she ordered the iris for me. After more than 10 years, these flowers are currently the stars of our front garden. The variety is called 'Batik,' named for the way swirls of purple and white adorn the petals, as if someone had applied that dying technique to them.

Each time I admire my Batik irises, I mentally thank my mother-in-law again. And when I collect an armful of iris belles for my house, I thank my long-dead grandmother, who first introduced me to these beauties.

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