I HAVE never really liked chrysanthemums. Maybe it was all those wrist corsages in high school, where my date and I always wanted to be with someone else. Or those pom-pom flowers, which look like bad party favors.

Then there are the so-called hardy mums. What a joke. Everyone in the house hints about how nice it would be to have some color by the front door for Thanksgiving, so you buy a few bunchy little mums and stick them in a big pot, with a pumpkin or giant gourd by its side. They smell a bit like tomatoes to me, which is nice, and the colors are O.K. Then comes a hard frost and it's sayonara ''hardy'' mums.

Fortunately, the chrysanthemum world is far more diverse than you would believe. You can learn much about the different species and varieties at ''Momijigari: The Japanese Autumn Garden,'' an exhibition at the New York Botanical Garden, in the Bronx, through next Sunday.

Arranged around the lotus pool at the conservatory, and enhanced by the flaming orange and scarlet Japanese maples, chrysanthemums cascade over invisible frames like ocean waves, they ramble beneath the trees as elegant ground covers, they form perfect mounds of little daisy-like flowers -- a single plant to a pot -- perfect for the terrace or entrance. They are even trained as five-foot standards or three-foot bonsai trees.

A simple bamboo gate and archway form a tei-mon, or threshold, between the outside world and the Momigigari, where you leave your cares behind and let your senses dwell on the glowing colors of autumn. In Japan, Momigigari is the time when people go into the mountains to view the crimson and gold leaves of magnificent trees. It is a romantic time, of both joy and melancholy, when one contemplates the fleeting moments of life.

It is also a time to learn about mums.

The chrysanthemum, or kiku, as they say in Japan, originated in China as early as the 15th century B.C., where it was called chu, and herbalists believed it had the power of life. According to the National Chrysanthemum Society, the young shoots and petals were eaten in salads, the roots were used to cure headaches and the leaves were brewed for tea. By the time it got to Japan in the eighth century A.D., the flower was adopted by the emperor for his family seal, and became the national flower.

Chrysanthemums are members of the aster, or composite family, which explains why they look like dahlias, sunflowers, marigolds, zinnias and cosmos. The show, with all its varieties and forms, makes those similarities strikingly clear.

''All the chrysanthemums come from C. indicum, which is native to China,'' said Bruce Blevins, the propagation manager whose crew grew 800 plants for the show. ''But the Japanese mums are more pliable and vigorous, so you can train them on these wire forms.'' Mr. Blevins showed how a gardener would select a long shoot and begin encouraging it to grow along a wire form, branching out at every clipped stem, and finally flowering in late fall.

My favorites of the cascading types are Golden Pinwheel, whose long slender orange petals end in little gold spoons, and Fire Chief, a blood-red daisy type with gold centers. These varieties take 11 months to train, from the time they are started as four-inch cuttings from the mother plants in December, to months of tedious pinching and training to their frames.

Two mounded forms -- C. yezoense, with dark green glossy leaves, and C. japanense var. ashizuriense, with silvery matte leaves -- both have single white daisy-like flowers with yellow centers. These require no pruning, and a single plant will develop, incredibly, into a three-foot-wide umbrella of blooms. This is the perfect potted plant, but it won't last the winter.

So in late fall, cut each plant back severely and store the pots in a cool dry cellar or garage. Come February or March, give the plants a little light and water, and watch them put out basal shoots. Make new cuttings from these shoots and start the whole thing over again.

The ground cover variety, a ruglike rambly plant with orange-yellow inch-wide daisies, is C. Toryu.

''Toryu means Climb to Sky Over Dragon,'' Mr. Blevins said. The good news is, Toryu is a hardy plant that needs no pruning.

The care and training of mums, from the no-care types to the cascading and bonsai varieties, is clearly explained in a handbook provided free by the National Chysanthemum Society, with a $20 membership. (Nonmembers may order the booklet for $10, online at www.mum.org, or by calling (703) 978-7981.)

My favorite mums are the carefree hardy Korean types, which have a relaxed, open habit and vibrant, single-petaled flowers with gold centers. These may be seen growing with other plants in the fall perennial garden in front of the conservatory.

The one I fell for was lounging over the soft gray-green leaves of a Plectranthus argentatus. Its magenta petals were echoed by a nearby dahlia called Fascination, fascinating, I suppose, for its combination of deep and pale pink petals.

''The Korean mums have very strong stems and vibrant colors if you grow them in full sun,'' Mr. Blevins said. ''They also can be started from seed.''

Before I left the garden, I noticed a low-growing plant with dark green, sturdy serrated leaves edged in white, and bright tansy-like yellow flowers. Its sign identified it as Ajania pacifica, which some may know as the Pacific mum. Another hardy, carefree type, perfect for the fall garden.

So mums, like a lot of other things from high school, are not at all what I first thought them to be, way back when.

Photos: Chrysanthemums are in bloom at the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx, where one can find Korean mums, pale orange and yellow ones. (Photographs by Ruby Washington/The New York Times)