You placed me in a location that has become too shaded. While I am adaptable, I am fundamentally a sun-worshiper. To create my magnificent blooms, I require a significant amount of solar energy—a minimum of six hours of direct, unfiltered sunlight per day. If larger trees or new structures have grown around me, casting deeper shade than in previous seasons, my photosynthetic factories cannot produce enough carbohydrates. This energy deficit forces me to prioritize survival over reproduction. I must channel all my resources into maintaining my green foliage and root system, leaving nothing in reserve for the extravagant energy expenditure of flowering.
My root system has become too congested. Over the years, I have been working diligently underground, producing new fans and expanding my clump. Now, we are too many, competing fiercely for the same limited resources in the soil—water and nutrients. This intense competition means that no single fan gets enough sustenance to support a flower scape. Furthermore, the sheer density of the clump creates a physical barrier; the new flower buds, or "scapes," simply cannot push their way through the tangled mass of roots and old foliage to reach the sunlight and bloom.
You may be feeding me, but you are feeding me incorrectly. A diet too rich in nitrogen, often from lawn fertilizers that drift into my bed or from well-meaning but misguided applications, encourages me to focus entirely on vegetative growth. I will produce an abundance of lush, beautiful, dark green leaves at the direct expense of flower production. I require a more balanced meal or one with a higher percentage of phosphorus (the middle number in fertilizer ratios, like 5-10-5) to successfully initiate and develop flower buds. Without this crucial element, my internal signals never switch from "grow leaves" to "create flowers."
I may have been planted too deeply, or the soil level around me may have risen over time. My crown—the white part where my roots meet my leaves—needs to be no more than one inch below the soil surface. If I am buried too deep, the energy and developing scapes must struggle through an excessive amount of soil, often depleting their energy or rotting before they ever emerge. Conversely, a season of unusual drought, especially in the spring when I am forming my bloom scapes, can cause me immense stress. Without consistent moisture, I will abort the flowering process to conserve water for my fundamental life functions.
Please consider the timeline. If you divided and transplanted me last fall or early this spring, I am simply busy re-establishing myself. The tremendous effort of growing a new root system to anchor myself and access water and nutrients takes all of my energy. Flowering is a secondary goal for a plant that is first ensuring its own stability and survival in a new location. My focus is on the future; once I am securely established, I will reward your patience with a spectacular display in the seasons to come.
