I have a love-hate relationship with my iris.

I inherited an old patch of traditional bearded iris in that old-timey shade of lilac-blue. Great, I thought — deer resistant, reliable spring bloomer, no-fuss.

They bloom at the same time as my peonies and the two look great together.

After a couple of years, though, the whole center of the patch stopped blooming. So I dutifully dug them up and hacked big pieces out with a spade.

I moved the new clumps to other spots in the yard, to spread my wealth around. I learned that irises really need to be dug up and split every 3 to 5 years to keep blooming well.

After a couple of years, the new clumps have become reliable bloomers.

But you know what? They have an awful smell. Like cheap bubblegum. I brought some inside once as cut flowers, then couldn’t get them out of the house fast enough.

And they flop over after a rainstorm. (I hate staking things.) And they’re a nuisance to weed.

I do have a few pure white ones that I like (a nice gift from my former colleague Dorothea Smith).

And a couple of ones I hate — in the most godawful shade of yellow known to nature (a gift from one of my partner’s co-workers). I stuck them in a field, where they won’t quite die. As you can see, they fall to the ground as soon as they come into full bloom.

Be wary, btw, by the way of plant “gifts” from friends and colleagues. Often you’re getting something that’s wildly invasive (why do you think they have so much of it that they’re trying to unload it on you?) or just plain ugly.

Perhaps I need to add some more iris that I like. Or just admit that iris are another one of those two-week wonders that haven’t quite earned a permanent spot in my garden.