The walk north of Zimmerman Library at the University of New Mexico is one that I make a point of going to during the late summer and early fall, soon after classes start. Even if I don’t have a reason to go by there, I make an excuse to walk through. It a very nice walk, but it isn’t an area that you’d think twice about. Until late summer comes, and I look forward to the blooming of the spider lily, Lycoris radiata. In all other seasons, the spider lily is nothing to notice, the thin wispy mid-green leaves could be the left-over leaves of a daffodil. But about September, long after the leaves have faded and the ground is bare, the flower stems jump out of the ground, and the flowers burst forth in a firework of red. Its an echo of the excitement that comes with the start of a new school year. Soon, though not soon enough, I will be finishing my degree, and I will forget to go to the walk north of Zimmerman.
There is a plant in my yard, that wields a similar trick. In my garden, it is Crocus speciosus that is the delightful surprise. This crocus deserves a common name, but doesn’t seem to have one (other than the generic "autumn crocus" of which there are many). This crocus is a fall bloomer, which seemed to me an oxymoron at first, the flowers I knew as crocus bloomed in the spring. But these burst out of the bare ground in the fall, the blooms a more luminous color than those of the spring. And although I always expect them, I never quite remember where I planted them, and their appearance is always a bit of a surprise. One day there is bare ground, and the next, there are globes of glowing purple. It is rare that I see the tips of flower buds poking above the ground before the blooms open, even when I am searching daily for them.
Every garden should have these surprises. The garden is often seen as an allegory on life. The role of the “path” that we take, “planting a seed,” “reap what we sow,” and any of the innumerable sayings referring to the garden. These garden surprises seem to me to be a metaphor for those surprises in life. Sometimes it is an “out of the blue” surprise, and sometimes it is something that we started long ago that we have forgotten about, but suddenly comes to fruition. It is like this in design, and it is like this in life.
Thanks Leslie! Although I use the blog primarily as an outlet for my thoughts, and a journal for my garden, it is always a pleasure hear that others enjoy it also. I'm checking out your blog also...sounds like a pretty close call with the rattlesnake!
ReplyDeleteI have seen the red lillies, and we commonly called them 'schoolhouse lillies'.
ReplyDeleteThe purple crocus looks like what I know as a 'rain lily'. Is it the same, or something totally different, do you know?
(still haven't finished the cleanup. Waiting for the snakes to get cold)
"Schoolhouse Lilies" usually refers to Rhodophiala bifida, (see http://davesgarden.com/guides/pf/go/54021/), a South American native which similarly blooms without leaves, and are red, but of more trumpet shaped and without the ruffled petal. Lycoris has very long stamens. I wonder if both Rhodophiala bifida and Lycoris radiata (from China, Japan) have the same common name?
ReplyDelete"Rain Lilies" usually refers to Zephranthes (of family Amaryllidaceae) which I've usually seen blooming with leaves present, and are in the white to pink or yellow range of flowers. Yuccado has some great ones. Fall blooming crocus (from the family Iridaceae), frequently bloom without leaves (although the Saffron Crocus has short leaves when blooming), and can also be yellow, but also white and blue or purple. The Zephranthes that I've seen have a waxy thick petal, and the Crocus have a diaphenous petal.
All are beautiful.