
There is something quietly satisfying about opening a book in January and finding a flattened buttercup from last July tucked between the pages. Pressing and drying flowers is one of the oldest cottage crafts going, and it costs almost nothing beyond a little patience. Unlike preserving fruit or bottling chutney, you need no special equipment — just paper, weight, and time.
The results are endlessly useful. Pressed blooms become framed pictures, gift cards, bookmarks, candle decorations and botanical studies for a nature journal. Dried stems and seedheads fill jugs and wreaths that last well past Christmas. Once you know a few simple rules, you can preserve the colour and character of a whole summer in a shoebox.
Timing matters more than technique. Pick on a dry morning after the dew has lifted but before the midday heat, when petals are fully open and turgid with moisture. Damp or wilted flowers will brown before they dry, so avoid anything picked after rain.
Some flowers press beautifully; others sulk. Reliable favourites include:
Skip anything thick or fleshy, such as tulips, lilies and most succulents. They hold too much water and tend to go mouldy. Take only what you need, never strip a wild patch bare, and leave plenty behind for the bees and for next year's seed.
Flower presses are easy to make or buy, but a heavy book works just as well. Lay two sheets of blotting paper, greaseproof paper or plain kitchen roll on a rigid board or thick card. Arrange your flowers face down, spaced so they do not touch — overlapping petals will stick together and tear when you separate them later.
Lay another sheet of blotting paper on top, then a second board, and weigh the whole sandwich down with a stack of books, roughly 5–10 kg. If you are using a proper press, tighten the wing nuts firmly but not so hard that you crush the stems.
Leave everything undisturbed for two to three weeks. The temptation to check after a few days is strong, but peeking lets moisture back in and can shift the petals. If the paper feels cool or clammy when you do open it, replace it with fresh dry sheets and press on for another week.
Not everything suits a press. Sturdier blooms with their stems attached — lavender, hydrangea, strawflowers, honesty and alchemilla — dry better hung upside down in small bunches of five or six stems. Tie them with twine and hang in a dark, dry, airy spot such as a loft, cupboard or shed. Light fades colour quickly, so darkness is your friend. They will be ready in two to four weeks, when the stems snap rather than bend.
For speed, a microwave flower press can finish a thin bloom in under a minute, and silica gel — sold as crystals for drying — will preserve chunky flowers like roses in two or three days. Both are handy, but nothing quite matches the slow, gentle result of paper and patience.
Pressed flowers are fragile and fade in sunlight, so mount them behind glass in a frame that keeps them away from direct light. Work on acid-free paper or card, and attach stems with tiny dots of PVA glue applied with a pin, or with slivers of double-sided tape. Handle everything with tweezers — fingertips leave oil that shows up years later.
For homemade cards, arrange a small cluster in one corner and leave plenty of white space. A sprig of fern behind a single pansy looks far more elegant than a crowded bouquet. Once arranged, a light mist of hairspray or artist's fixative helps hold delicate petals in place.
Dried stems look lovely in simple brown paper, hessian or vintage glass. Group three different heights and textures rather than one big bunch — a few lavender stems, some dried grasses and a seedhead or two make an arrangement that lasts all winter.
If your flowers turn brown, they were either picked wet or pressed too slowly. If they curl at the edges, the weight was uneven. Mould means the paper stayed damp for too long — throw the affected blooms away and start again with fresh material.
Store spare pressed flowers flat, between sheets of acid-free paper, in a rigid box kept somewhere dry and dark. Labelled envelopes by month are a joy to flick through in the depths of February. With a little practice, you will find your summer garden keeps giving long after the last asters have gone over.
Hi, my name is Anthony kuber. I am artist and fashion designer.
I love to travel and writing blogging.
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