As a peony, my life cycle is governed by the sun and the seasons. When the days begin to shorten and the air carries a distinct chill, I receive my first signal. My internal biological processes start to slow down. The production of chlorophyll in my leaves ceases, and the green pigment breaks down, allowing the brilliant yellows and reds that were always there to become visible. This is not just for your viewing pleasure; it is a sign that I am beginning to withdraw energy from my foliage and redirect it to my most vital part: my storage organs, the eyes and roots buried safely underground.
This energy transfer is the single most important preparation I undertake for winter. The carbohydrates and nutrients produced throughout the summer through photosynthesis are now moved from my stems and leaves down into my root system and the "eyes" – those reddish buds at the base of my stems from which I will regrow next spring. This stored energy is my life force, the fuel that will sustain me through the frozen months and power my explosive growth when warmth returns. Any interruption to this process can leave me weakened and vulnerable.
You may be eager to tidy your garden, but I implore you: do not cut my foliage back too early. Wait until a hard frost has blackened and wilted my leaves and stems. This is a clear visual sign that the energy transfer is complete. Cutting me back while my leaves are still green is like unplugging me before I have finished saving my work; it severs the connection and traps precious energy in parts of me that are destined to die back, starving my roots for the winter ahead.
Once my foliage has died back naturally, you can cut my stems down to just an inch or two above the soil line. My crown and roots are now dormant, but they are not inactive. They remain alive and breathing, albeit very slowly. My greatest winter threat in northern states is not the constant cold, but the erratic freeze-thaw cycles. A sudden warm spell can trick my eyes into breaking dormancy prematurely, only for them to be killed by the subsequent hard freeze. A thick, loose layer of mulch (like straw, shredded leaves, or pine boughs) applied after the ground has frozen solid is my best defense. It acts like a blanket, keeping the soil consistently cold and shielding me from damaging temperature fluctuations.
Beneath the insulating layer of snow and mulch, I enter a state of deep dormancy. My metabolic activity is nearly halted. I am not growing, merely waiting. This period of cold rest, known as vernalization, is not something I merely endure; it is a requirement. I need a certain number of chilling hours to break dormancy properly and initiate healthy, vigorous growth and flowering in the spring. When the sun's angle changes and the soil warms, the stored energy in my roots will surge upward, and my red eyes will push through the soil, ready to begin the cycle anew.
