One of my favorite quiet joys of summer is slipping flowers between the pages of old books and forgetting about them. It’s a little ritual I’ve kept since I was a youngster, one of those slow, patient hobbies that rewards you weeks later when you open a forgotten volume and find a perfect little bloom, paper-flat and still full of color.
Lately, I’ve been pressing pansies and begonias from the garden, along with a few wildflowers from my walks. Pansies press especially well. Their faces flatten neatly, and their colors deepen into something rich and velvety with time. The begonias are trickier. Their petals are thicker and more fragile, prone to browning if you don’t blot them first, but if you catch them just right, they hold onto their coral and rose tones beautifully.
The wildflowers are always a surprise. Some fade into dusty pastels; others seem even more colorful once they’ve been pressed. I press them the old-fashioned way: tucked inside a big hardcover book, and weighted down with a few more. No fancy equipment, just time and a bit of care. Sometimes I check them after a week, but I’ve learned to leave most alone for two or three. The longer I wait, the flatter and sturdier they become, ready to be used in collages, bookmarks, or glued to handmade cards.
If you’ve never tried pressing flowers, start with something simple, such as pansies, violas, or fern fronds. Collect them when they’re dry and freshly opened, and press them right away. Months from now, when the skies are gray and the beds are bare, you’ll open a book and find a garden tucked inside.
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