Are you a risk taker? came the question, lobbed across a row of low shrubs and pine straw separating our yards.
If it doesn’t involve bodily injury, I answered, then I’d say yes, I am a risk taker.
And in a moment here came Stephanie with a most gigantic bag filled with daylilies. They had been brought to her as an unexpected donation by a landscaper who had rescued them from an abandoned bed.
Don’t know what color—or colors—they are, she said. Heck, they probably won’t even bloom! But I’ve planted until I can’t plant anymore.
And so I got busy in a rather bare spot just at the bottom of our driveway.
a small segment of my new daylily bed, clearly in need of weeding
This morning I opened the side porch door to let the dog out and the cat in. This caught my eye:
Bloom One, of what I hope will be a thousand to come
All I could think is it doesn’t even matter to me if the colors are all mixed up. Whatever they turn out to be, daylilies just the happiest.
When we first moved into my childhood home in Columbia (1976), my grandfather helped my mom plant some daylilies in our yard. He died in 1981. When Mom and Dad sold the house (when I was about 24), Mom gave me the daylily, which I’ve moved from home to home ever since. It always reminds me of my “Pop,” and it seems to have grown more and more blooms every year. This year, it bloomed every day for a month — sometimes 3 or 4 blooms a day. It’s always such an unexpected joy to peek out the kitchen window and see that the daylily has started blooming!
I love that story. I had daylilies from my grandmother once upon a time, but I have not been a disciplined as you in moving them with me. Now I certainly regret it.
Thanks for sharing, Kelly!