TURIN, Italy — First came the scent of flowers, then the brown of dried leaves. Lisa Ardizzone surveys the dead geraniums on the two terraces of her home in Piazza del Monastero in Turin. In May, they were a riot of color: more than 900 varieties of pelargoniums, some exceedingly rare, collected over decades. Then came the extreme heat. About 250 parent plants have died, and some 20 varieties are at risk of disappearing forever.

Ardizzone has spent 20 years tending to the collection. Today, she opens it to enthusiasts free of charge by appointment. During the flowering season, visitors come from around the world. Now, amid sun-scorched pots and curled leaves, she is hoping to save what remains.

“On May 20, they started to fade. I remember it perfectly,” she says.

The heat wave lasted for months, and the toll has been devastating. “I can’t even count how many have died,” Ardizzone says.

Her passion for pelargoniums, commonly known as balcony geraniums, dates back to childhood. She began collecting them in her early 20s, and the collection grew in part thanks to Carlo Giorgi, a Ligurian nursery owner who specializes in pelargoniums.

“I discovered him because he was featured in a gardening magazine. I went to meet him, and with his help my collection grew. Together, we managed to preserve many varieties,” she says.

What began as a hobby has become a botanical treasure, sustained by an international network of collectors. During the flowering season, enthusiasts travel from abroad to see it. “Last year, people even came from Pakistan,” she says.

Ardizzone keeps cuttings from every plant in small cups of soil. They are her backup: living copies of the collection. “Everything died in 2009, and thanks to the backup, I managed to rebuild it.”

But this time, she fears that may not be enough. New plants need time to grow, and another spell of extreme heat could arrive before they are strong enough to provide fresh cuttings.

“If these exceptional summers return — and I’m sure they will — I won’t be able to cope. If the plants die in May, there won’t be enough time to grow them again. Those varieties will be lost forever,” she says.

Among the pots, the work of a lifetime is measured in dried stems and containers that need checking. Every plant has a story: some came through exchanges with other collectors, while others were rescued and propagated over the years. This is about more than missed blooms. The rarest varieties require precise care, and starting again from a cutting does not mean immediately having a mature plant capable of withstanding the summer heat.

That is why Ardizzone is turning to local authorities. She is willing to donate a backup of the collection, provided its preservation can be guaranteed.

“I would rebuild everything together with the city,” she says.

She points to England, where national pelargonium collections exist, and imagines something similar in Italy. “It would be wonderful to establish Italy’s national collection here in Turin.”

Ardizzone has been in contact with Lorenzo Ciravegna, Geen-Space Coordinator for Turin’s District 4, and is waiting to meet with public green-space officials.

“We will soon conduct a site inspection in Piazza del Monastero and assess whether we can launch an urban-renewal project in collaboration with the relevant city departments,” Ciravegna says.

Her first request is a practical one: more shade.

The two terraces offer a striking contrast. Where tree canopies provide cover, the leaves have fared better. Where the sun beats down without relief, many plants have been scorched.

“If there were more lush greenery around the buildings, it wouldn’t just benefit my geraniums. It would benefit all of us,” she says.

Planned work on the square’s paving could provide an opportunity to rethink its greenery, too.

The appeal begins with a private collection, but Ardizzone sees it as botanical heritage that could one day belong to everyone. Losing a variety can mean losing something that may never be recoverable. Looking at the empty pots, she feels the pain of someone who has spent a lifetime searching for and cultivating these plants.

“Perhaps telling the world about it is a bit of a stretch. It was my own little corner of the world. But seeing them like this and being powerless to help is deeply painful,” she says. “For many people, these aren’t living beings. But they are alive, and this brings renewed attention to the damage caused by climate change.”

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