Every summer, when my Speciosum lilies peel back their rough-textured petals, I wonder anew why enchanting a blossom should have such an unimaginative name and why its two variations should be labeled simply white and red.
And I marvel, too, that this startlingly beautiful lily should grow so contentedly in my garden year after year, mingling its rosiness and its whiteness with the purple daisies and the deep green yew when its true home is on the wild mountain slopes of southern Japan.
First Meeting With Speciosum Lilies
Well, do I remember my first meeting with this lily? It was a late summer Sunday, a family gathering at my grandmother’s house, a rollicking game of “I Spy” with a dozen cousins.
The half-long grass was wet from the previous night’s thunderstorm, and I, a diminutive five-year-old, slipped and sprawled headlong beside the mossy stones that supported the slanted cellar door.
And when I raised my head, I thought I had been transported into a fairyland. On a level with my wet and grass-stained face, there was an unreal, unimaginable flower.
Its six white petals, softly suffused with the palest pink and spotted with raised dots of a deeper shade, were turned far back toward its stem, and from its pale green heart, several long white fairy wands from whose tips hung little powdery chocolate bars.
The noisy “I Spy” game went on around me, but I did not hear it. Slowly, carefully, I reached out my hand and touched that blossom.
It did not disappear. I felt the coolness of the wavy petals and the soft roughness of the raised rosy spots.
Some of the cocoa powder fell onto my hand, and I laughed with delight. I pushed my nose into the heart of that fairy flower, and it smelled like—Oh, childish heaven!—vanilla ice cream.
I touched my tongue to the drop of silvery liquid that hung from the green pistil tip, and it was sweet as sugar syrup.
I remember that my mother lifted me from my prostrate position and wiped the smudges from my face rather more roughly than was strictly necessary while she lamented the stains on my new pink dress, but I could only talk about “the flower.”
“Oh, that lily!” my grandmother cried impatiently, “It’s just too much bother. Falls in every storm. I’m going to get rid of it.”
The Lilies I Grew In My Garden
And she did, too. I never saw another one anywhere until 20 years later when I bought a bulb from a nursery and grew one in my garden.
I watched it as the three buds it produced grew and swelled, almost afraid to see it open, fearing I should find something less than the fairy flower I had carried in my secret heart all those years.
But the buds finally burst at the tips, the petals separated and turned back—a deeper pink even than I had remembered—and the chocolate-colored anthers were there waving loosely at the ends of the slender white stamens. Deep in the green heart was the distinct aroma of vanilla ice cream.
I powdered my face with the anther’s cocoa dust, making sure of that fragrance. The enchantment I had remembered was all there, even to the sweet silvery drop of liquid which a day or so later appeared at the tip of the pistil.
Since then, I have grown them almost recklessly, scattering them everywhere in my garden, letting them grow to lovely clumps in the perennial borders, among the shrubbery, as a surprise in the foundation plantings.
And I’ve never found it necessary to stake a single one, even in a windy, exposed area.
Red Speciosum Lily
The red speciosum, Lilium speciosum rubrum, more rosy than red, is my favorite; but the L. speciosum album, with petals of purest white, is a lovely thing.
Either of them will give a touch that is charmingly different from any planting. Of the rubrums, there are two forms, Magnificum and Melpomene.
Magnificum is sturdy, strong, and vigorous; its petals are broad and are themselves suffused with color.
Melpomene is smaller both in stalks and flowers and less colorful, but it seems to be far more resistant to viruses than Magnificum.
Planting The Lilies
The bulbs, ordered from a reliable nursery, will arrive late in the fall, so it is best to prepare their ground well in advance and then cover it with leaves or straw, especially if you live in a region where the earth is likely to freeze hard before the end of November.
Above all, if you plan to tuck your lilies into an already established perennial border, mark the spots during the full growing months of June or July where each bulb is to go, else you will find yourself digging into the sleeping hearts of some of your favorite plants.
When your bulbs arrive, plant them at once! Speciosum lilies should be planted 5” or 6” inches deep, measuring from the top of the bulb, in good garden soil that has been well supplied with humus.
Dig the hole with a trowel. Don’t use a dibble or a pointed stick.
A trowel makes an opening where the bulb can be set firmly on the soil, while a dibble almost always leaves an air pocket beneath your bulb where water can collect and cause rot.
Good drainage is the one invariable demand of any bulbous plant, and the speciosum lilies are no exception.
Like most lilies, the speciosum likes its head in the sun but its feet in the cool shade, so keep them well mulched or grow a loose ground cover of little blue violets or evergreen creeping myrtle, Vinca minor, about them.
Scale Propagation
A simple method for increasing lilies is by scale propagation.
For this operation, choose one or more of your most vigorous and healthy plants that have grown and bloomed well for three or four years.
When the blossoms are fading, in August or September, or perhaps after they have completely dropped from the stalk, dig up the entire stalk and gently break off as many plump scales as you wish.
Dust both the scales and the parent bulb with a good fungicide to prevent fusarium rot from developing at the fresh scars; then, immediately replant the adult bulb.
Plant the scales at once, too, before they wilt. These can be planted in a well-prepared seedbed in the open if you do not have space in your overworked cold frame.
Make your rows about 6” inches apart and drop your scales about 2” inches apart in the row.
Cover them to a depth of about 2” inches. The next spring, you should have small bulbs and nice young plants, but they will not flower until at least the following year.
My propagation method is simply to lift and remove from the parent stalk the youngsters, which grow up about its feet each year. This method delays the development of nice large lilies but hastens the spread of healthy plants in my garden.
Feeding Lilies
Feed your lilies a half-and-half mixture of superphosphate and dried manure each fall. Be careful not to injure their underground stalks— don’t cultivate, just pull up the weeds—keep their roots cool with a mulch or a ground cover, cut your flowers with as short stems as possible, and, barring an attack of virus or mosaic, they should grow happily and vigorously for many, many years.
And, you know, if we use the broad translation for the word speciosum and call this “The Splendid Lily,” perhaps it hasn’t been so poorly named after all.
44659 by Mary Mcfarland Leister