My mother loved pink azaleas. They had to be a particular shade of pink to be just right. Kind of a salmon color — not too pinky. On her birthday and holidays, Boesen’s the Florist would deliver just the right plant, with just the right color — unless there was a new clerk handling the order, someone who didn’t understand that the pink had to be exactly right, or there might be tears.

Growing up in Iowa, we couldn’t grow our own azaleas. They couldn’t withstand the frigid winters. So when I moved to Washington, D.C. and experienced spring — real spring, where azaleas bloom with abandon, or neatly trimmed, along sidewalks and in the yards of old neighborhoods — I was stunned.

They were everywhere. White. Deep red. And my mother’s favorite: a light coral pink.

As an aside, when I was a talk radio host, I once interviewed a U.S. senator and asked — just making small talk during a commercial break — if the azaleas were in bloom in D.C.

He fumbled. Didn’t know what an azalea was. Tried to fake it. Hysterical.

Right now, we’re in Annapolis, Maryland, living on a boat for a couple of weeks. I’m driving around running errands in this magical geography, where spring arrives earlier than it does in Des Moines. I’ve seen iris. Dogwood. And yes, azaleas — loads of them.

And in between stops, I found myself caught in the middle of a breakdown between two friends — longtime friends — and tried to mediate a fragile, unraveling relationship.

I failed.

They’re in different zones.

According to the 2023 USDA Hardiness Zone Map, Des Moines is in Zone 5b, where winter temperatures can dip to -15°F. That’s a harsh climate. Only the hardiest plants can survive there.

Annapolis, by contrast, is in Zone 8a. Here, the winters are softer. The growing season is longer. The soil more forgiving. Azaleas — my mother’s coral-pink azaleas — thrive here.

Some relationships are like that. They need the right climate: the right light, the right soil, the right rhythm of warmth and cold. And some, like azaleas in Iowa — just won’t survive. You can try, but they won’t thrive. Not really.

Then sometimes, you move — or life moves you — and what once took great effort now grows all on its own. You look around, and love is blooming in yards and along sidewalks. It feels natural.

And sometimes… sometimes, you’re watching something wilt. A relationship struggling to survive the cold. The arctic blast of fierce emails sound colder than they were meant to. The texts land wrong — stripped of tone, they feel abrupt. Frigid.

Too frigid to survive.

I told one of them, “I wish I had a magic wand. I wish I could wave it and make peace between you.”

But I don’t. I just know what it’s like to experience life in both zones.

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Julie Gammack is an Iowa native, whose media career included a stint as the morning talk radio host on WHO AM radio and as a former Des Moines Register columnist.