We bought this boarded-up house, made it marginally livable before going out to do battle in the yard in the spring of 1984. Spearing leaves grew in a corner clump, a place with little sun. We had bigger issues to tackle—knee high weeds, bare dirt where lawn should be—ignored those narrow leaves that never flowered. They came back the next year, and the next and by the third year I knew what they were, transplanted them to a sunnier spot and these orange beauties appeared. After a season of nurturing I turned to thinning and still, they ran rampant. I’ve given them to all my neighbors.
All along the side of the house
Vacant a year or more, the house had a squatter’s soiled mattress, was a rental in the 70s when Councilman Hiawatha Davis owned it, once was divided into apartments. I doubt any of those people planted day lilies. Homeowners planted them. They were certainly black, because this street was within the color lines drawn in the 20s and maintained through the 50s. Even in the eighties, we were the only white people on our block. The day lilies must be sixty years old, survived neglect for half that time, much as the neighborhood did. The blooms are one-day wonders, their time in the sun brief as any candle, but the plants are perennial, everlasting. They’ll be here when we move on.
Your writing prompt, should you choose to accept it: pick a nature subject that inspires you. For example, I’m inspired by squirrels, but not in a good way. Post in comments on the blog. And would you like some day lilies?
Missing the serene beauty of my June garden, and harried by the desiccating heat of mid-July, I plop the hose under a young plumb tree, a red-leafed beauty that survived two killing freezes. Both last fall and spring, temperatures plummeted seventy degrees, killing a perfectly healthy eight-year-old maple just ten feet north of this spot. On the narrow leaves of (yes) day lilies, spider webs hold the hollowed carcass of a Japanese beetle, and I look up to see the tell-tale feather chew holes in the leaves above my head. Dismay. A half-hour later, I bend to retrieve the hose and am nose-to-nose with an orange butterfly daintily working the purple petals of a cone-flower blossom. Small bee, buzzing wasp, and a wisp of perspective. We are tough, we created things.
Fine response! And thanks for the edit!
You gave me some day lilies years ago, and they bloom here every year. I’ve thinned them many times, given corms to my neighbors and my kids. Would you like some Russian sage? I have two bushes in what used to be called the “death strip,” that strip of dried out, sandy soil between the sidewalk and the curb. The sage loves it, and the bees love the sage, now in full bloom and so busy with bees that pedestrians walk in the street to avoid them. For the past few years, however, the sage has moved from the territory I thought it would stay in to sprout in sidewalk seams and has even made its way under the sidewalk to shoot up in the front yard. Nothing seems to discourage it, though I pull out the shoots on my side of the walk whenever I see them. Yup, it’ll be here when we’re long gone.
Bob, no thanks on the Russian sage and yes, thanks on your response. Think how these lilies have spread across the metro area!
Yes, I would love some day lilies. Nature, including squirrels, gives me peace of mind and humbles my soul. Billions of years in the making and yet the earth is still evolving. The earth is a constant workshop.
Sylvia, those day lilies will be done blooming in a week or so and then I’ll be thinning them again. I’ll let you know when I do and you can come pick some up. Thanks for your response!
Since I’m home all day, every day, I take inspiration from my yard. There is joy in viewing each day’s growth and change, in the morning when I check for watering needs, and again after dinner to do a little weed patrol. The zinnia seeds I planted late are just about to bloom, and will hopefully last into September if I keep them cut. There are tomatoes on every plant and I’ve been enjoying peppers for over a week.
I have some very tall lilies that I didn’t plant at this house. I picked up some shorter ones last year from a neighbor and just stuck them wherever there was a spot. I’ve been cutting them and bringing them inside onto my dining room table (and my bathroom vanity) because there are at least 4 on every stalk and they bloom one day at a time. And because I love seeing them inside and out. They seem to be doing unusually well this year. The ones in the shade still bloom, just later.
And of course the Japanese beetles give me something to do and allow me to get rid of some aggression. There is value in that. Strangely this year these critters less interested in my roses than my potintilla (?) bushes, but they are easy to knock off into my soap water cup and there is such glee in doing so. Yes, gardens are inspiring and reaffirming, especially this summer.
Yes, I’d love some more lilies!
Wow, another person I haven’t yet given lilies to! I like to wait till after they’re done blooming, a week or so, and then will let you know when I’m thinning them so you can come get some. I’m with you on the Japanese beetles: there’s joy in tipping them into the jar.
Remnants of those day lilies must have crept up the hill into the garden belonging to the Holy Redeemer parsonage. This garden borders on our fence line and must have wanted to check out the new neighbors when I moved in. We now share a beautiful a beautiful patch and consider them a sign of good neighbors.