I wasn’t always a fan of gladioli. Like most people I associated them with stiff altar arrangements. But that changed when I noticed them in a garden. On a cross-country trip many years ago, I passed a house in Somewheresville, USA with a row of glads planted along the road like a chorus line, and I remember thinking, “Whoa. That’s weird.” Maybe it was, but the image of that glad fence is seared on my brain while I can barely remember the Corn Palace. Turns out gladioli aren’t just for funerals. They come alive in the garden.

Gladiolus is Latin for “small sword,” which refers to the flat pointed leaves that rise fresh and grass-green through mid-summer’s dusty heat. Pregnant spikes follow, generally in August, just when you begin to despair of these spears producing anything and flowers unfurl like captive butterflies from the bottom up along one side of the stem.

Glads can be as tacky as tie-dye but I love them now for their kitsch. No one can deny the snazzy of the Flevo hybrids or the pink and green ‘Sapporo’ offered by Brent and Becky’s (brentandbeckysbulbs.com). I ordered a rather tasteful apricot glad from them called ‘Vedetta’ and hardly minded that it bloomed a garish salmon pink instead. ‘Green Star’ would top my favorites list for the oddity of its ruffly pale green flowers if there was no such glad as ‘Blue Mountain.’ That one is a deep purple-blue in bud and along the edges of unfurled flowers, with a watercolor wash and runway stripe of paler blue toward the center of each flower. The epitomy of elegance.

My very favorite of all is G. murielae, also known by its old name acidanthera as well as peacock and Abyssinian gladiolus. Aside from the sword-like foliage, it barely resembles its fat-faced cousins. Acidanthera flowers arch out like shooting stars from the stem, creamy white with a deep purple throat and a heady fragrance, unusual for glads. They’re ridiculously inexpensive — a good thing since they’re much more effective planted en masse than singled out. For more oddities and rarities, check out heirloom glads offered by Old House Gardens (oldhousegardens.com).

Gladiolus grow from corms, which are not to be confused with bulbs even though we gardeners include them in the “spring-planted bulbs” category. Corms, like bulbs, are swollen underground storage units, but unlike bulbs are solid rather than layered in onion scales. Although most gladiolus species hail from Southern African regions, some are perfectly — or at least marginally — hardy here as long as winter drainage is sharp. (G. daleni ‘Boone’ is on the leave-planted list.) But lifting them for winter storage indoors is the best way to protect your investment.

Storage is easy. After forking them out in the fall, cut off the stems and allow the corms to dry off before removing soil, the spent and shriveled corm, and cormels (keep those babies for replanting) and put them in a paper bag down cellar. Catalogs say to plant them two weeks apart in late spring/early summer but this year I planted the second batch after spears from the first sprouted, and the bloom timing is just right: the second batch is hot on the heels of the first rather than annoyingly simultaneous.

Last year some of the glads I planted in the cutting garden at Mount Hope Farm suffered from thrips, an unsightly liability. Tell-tale signs of the invisible critter are anemic foliage (on closer inspection, leaves are stippled white from being sucked dry) and damaged flowers. That is, if they flower at all. Most of them didn’t. The cure was a couple of winter months in the fridge (40F). This year they have been stunning enough to sacrifice for flower arrangements.

Arranging glads is tricky, given their funereal reputation. I’m here to tell you it can be done. The trick is to let them be awkward. Stuff them in a vase with wilder things like rudbeckia, cosmos, and great burnet (Sanguisorba spp.) that offset their rigidity. Shorten their stems. Stick them in sideways. Or just leave them in the garden. You’ll be glad (pun intended) either way.

Kristin Green is the horticulturist at Mount Hope Farm and author of 'Plantiful: Start Small, Grow Big with 150 Plants that Spread, Self-Sow, and Overwinter'. Follow her blog at trenchmanicure.com.