Cutting cosmos is a meditation

Cosmos is the flower I tell people to grow if they’ve never grown anything before. It will forgive you almost anything — except cutting it at the wrong time of day.

The trick with cosmos is the morning cut. Out before the sun is on the bed, secateurs sharp, conditioning bucket already in the kitchen with cool water. You take the open flowers and the ones just about to break — never the buds, never the spent ones — and you keep going down the row until the bucket is full.

It’s a contemplative job. Half an hour of not thinking about anything except the next stem. The bees show up at about half past six and you want to be most of the way through the bed by then; not because they’re a problem, but because once they’re working the flowers you don’t want to disturb them.

The cosmos earn their space. They cut and cut and cut, all summer, and they keep producing. Pinkie Pop is my workhorse. Apricotta for the nuance. A small row of Versailles Tetra for the strong reds when I need them.