Lavender was the instigator.

Just the thought of having a few dried stems to appreciate through the snow, sleet and aching cold of winter had me clipping at several clumps of Munstead in July. I barely caught the buds in their prime as some plants had burst into bloom and others weren’t developed fully.

And while the bouquet I gathered wasn’t much, it will be enough to transport me back to the warmth of my garden in summer every time I catch the scent of it.

Dried flowers can rouse winter-dulled senses with their beauty and, in the case of lavender, their fragrance. Some plants can be permanent additions to the landscape; others can be grown on a whim annually.

One particular specimen deserves a perennial place of honor in the garden – the old-fashioned hydrangea.

I adore this shrub, mostly because of its romantic appeal. Hydrangea paniculata, especially the ‘Grandiflora’ variety, reminds me of a garden-size wedding bouquet. In full bloom, it looks like clouds of lace.

H. paniculata varieties can grow up to 22 feet tall, which seems a might bigger than a shrub but that’s horticulture for you. Hardy to at least Zone 4 (mine has survived many nights in Zone 3 conditions), they can flourish in much of the state, unlike the more delicate pink and blue hydrangeas.

Contrary to its name, the ‘Grandiflora’ hydrangea, commonly called the PeeGee hydrangea, doesn’t require much water. The name is derived from the Greek “hudor” for water and “aggeion” for jar or vessel. The first cultivated hydrangeas were marsh plants that required a hefty supply of water. Those thirsty varieties are H. macrophylla, the large-leafed hydrangea that offers those oft-coveted shades of blue and pink.

My hydrangea is much subtler.

It starts in August as the first blooms start to form. By the end of the month, the lacy panicles are a creamy shade of ivory, touched with the occasional streak of pink or blush of green.

As the days shorten, the blossoms darken. The fresh ivory of youth deepens into a dusty pink that looks older and more fragile, and it is: The new flowers are soft and supple while the darkened flowers are dry and crackly.

That color change signals it is prime cutting time. I’ve tried to gather the flowers earlier and all I got was withered blooms. But cut them after they blush and you’ll get a bouquet that will last for months.

I collected enough flowers for three bouquets, removing some of the leaves near the stem ends, and tied them with twine. These were hooked onto a plant hanger or a clothes peg to dry upside down for two or three weeks, and then they were ready for use. Display in a simple vase or pitcher will more than do.

While I was visiting at my grandmother’s last week, I noticed her bouquets of hydrangea, and she mentioned that her hydrangea hadn’t been doing well since the legendary ice storm. And, she said, the blossoms had a lot more green on them this year.

I couldn’t answer that one until I stumbled over a Web site from New Zealand that sings the praises of ‘Grandiflora.’ The folks at Blue Mountain Nursery say that the color of ‘Grandiflora’ depends on the amount of sunshine. The more sun it gets, the pinker the blossoms become. The less sun, the more green remains.

My hydrangea is in sunshine from early morning to midafternoon. My grandmother’s is mostly shaded.

Mystery solved.

But the New Zealanders raised an intriguing challenge. Judicious pruning, generous watering and vigorous feeding can produce, and I quote, “arching pyramids of blooms up to nearly a meter long and 30 centimeters at the base.”

Somehow, that rendered me speechless.

Then I wondered what I would do with a bouquet of flowers that big, because I don’t have a vase that could hold something like that. And I certainly am not going to haul the hose up to the back yard just to water my hydrangea when I could be watering my cucumbers. And I hate to prune. And mix fertilizer.

Well, maybe someday. I think I prefer my sorry blossoms that are only 6 or 7 inches long. They are no less adorable at that size.

Another interesting hydrangea fact is that most varieties produce only sterile flowers.

All that promise with no results probably led to why the hydrangea is the symbol of heartlessness and likened to a boaster. Every detail of the magnificent flower heads screams romance and promise, yet nothing ever comes of it.

Life is full of these little ironies.

Janine Pineo is a NEWS systems editor. Her e-mail address is jpineo@bangordailynews.net.