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Surprise Lilies in August
In loving memory of Dad Franz
By Brigid O’Kane, August 2025

I had never seen surprise lilies before I visited the lake house. How could I not have known? They bloom in the most unexpected and magical way. The bulbs that were planted a few years before I arrived had spread over a 60-foot-long garden that arched alongside the curved gravel driveway that rolled downhill and then back up again. At its widest point, it is about 7 feet deep. The uphill side of the driveway was lined with large flat rocks that stood up almost vertically, slightly slanted to hold back the ground where the surprise lilies rest. The largest of these rocks stands 3 feet tall. Over the years, in this lovely patch of earth, these bulbs have stretched and multiplied.

The first bulbs came from a family friend, whom I didn’t know at that time. Terri needed some flat rocks for her yard, and Dad had lots of them all over the lake house property. He selected several rocks that were of the right shape and drove an hour to bring them to her home. In the place where he was to leave the stones for her, Terri had placed a bag of bulbs, which Dad took home and planted.

I can imagine how the teardrop-shaped bulbs rested in his hands. He probably examined them with wonder, observing their graceful, rounded bases that bulged and then gracefully tapered to tops with points where the sprouts were to emerge. At 2 to 3 inches in diameter, they look plump and somewhat asymmetrical in form. If Dad cupped his hands, he may have been able to hold 7 of them, each carrying the quiet promise of the season to come.
These dusty ochre bulbs were encased in dry papery husks that surrounded the earthy-toned outer layers. The exterior coverings protected the light ivory centers that were moist and held nutrients for the coming blooms. These inner sheets were fleshy with concentric layers, similar to an onion, but more delicate and smoother. Dad probably smelled them and noted the unpretentious scent of earth. To look at the bulbs, you wouldn’t see the magic. But I’m sure Dad was very aware of their special lifeforce within.

Surprise lily bulbs are best planted in the fall. Dad picked a perfect spot under the old oak tree. When the leaves turned to shades of rusty red, he dug holes for each bulb and planted them one by one. The spot he selected for them was a partly shaded location with well-drained soil. Exactly what these bulbs preferred. I’m sure he was careful to cover them and politely stomped on them to pack the dirt. Then he let them rest.

In the winter, the bulbs rested beneath the surface. Out of sight, they went into a period of stillness as they cuddled the stored energy from the season before in Terri’s garden. The compressed soil insulated them from freezing temperatures. While nothing seemed to happen on the surface, these bulbs lived in darkness, waiting, sensing, and preparing for their reawakening.

In late March, when the tulips and daffodils bloom, these lovely bulbs open and send up glossy green ribbon-like leaves. They started small, but then grew to be 8 – 12 inches tall. The leaves were wide and arched as they reached for light and warmth. For 7 weeks, Dad inspected them daily, noting the changes as the small patch of rich emerald transformed. As the summer days grew hot, the lush green foliage yellowed and lay withered on the hillside. They died and vanished. Was Dad disappointed to anticipate the blooms that didn’t come?
The following year, the growing season came again. The arching leaves emerged, blew in the wind, danced in the rain, and soaked in the sun. Then, starting at the tips and moving downward, they gently faded to a pale yellow. Their texture softened as they droop and collapse. Then, they disappeared.

Weeks later, in the first week of August, Dad witnessed the magic. Tall bare stems abruptly appeared. They spurted straight up, and at 24 inches produced up to 8 buds clustered at the top of a single stem. Smooth and tightly packaged, these buds were a soft French rose color with tints of silky pink, which hinted at the delicate blooms to come. The stalks stood tall, crowned with lustrous anticipation. Then, large fragrant trumpet-shaped pink flowers bloomed out of nowhere. They appeared most radiant when they were bathed in light, as if the rays of the sun were woven into each petal that burned with luminous grace. This magical blooming is how they got their name. Each flower lasted only a few days, but because they open in succession, the miracle continued over several days.

A unique feature of the surprise lily is the six stamens and central carpel that emerge from the heart of the flower. These long, delicate filaments typically cluster together and stretch beyond the pedals. Each tapering form is wider at the base and narrows slightly, punctuated with elongated oval pollen-covered tips. The ends of the slender threads, along with the softly dusted saffron-gold anthers, typically curl upward, like fingers in mid-gesture, paused in quiet awe. The carpel reaches the furthest, giving each bloom a layered dimensionality. Their dreamlike pink blossoms call to hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies alike, guests who sip and linger in reverence. At night, fireflies hovered low among the surprise lilies, their pulsing lights echoed faintly off the glowing petals.

Within a week or two, the blooms quietly died. The vibrant pink petals softened in color, losing their saturation and twisting at the edges. The once-upright blooms drooped and curled downward, with a delicate surrender. Subtle browning appeared along the petal tips and traced its way back to the stalk. The dead petals remained while one by one, the rest of them faded. When all the blooms expired, they remained lifeless on the stalk, frozen in space like the smoky residue left lingering in the sky after fireworks have gone out. These lightless blossoms hold the memory of flame. Then, the flowers gradually collapsed with the stalk. Dad may have felt the fleeting, melancholic beauty in their decline as they whispered farewell.

Each season, since the distant autumn when Dad planted the bulbs in the ground, this cycle has repeated. Witnessing this miracle year after year has been incredible. The bulbs produce offsets, which mature and bloom in time. It takes years for an offset to produce a bloom. The handful of bulbs gifted to Dad gets fuller and fuller of blooms each year.
Last year’s bloom was magnificent. There were so many blooms that the wind rolled them like waves in a calm pink sea. Their movement reminded me of birds flying together in a fluid, ever-shifting pattern across the open sky. They sway in synchronized patterns, each bloom instantaneously reacting to the others, creating a poetic display of coordinated motion. They also reminded me of Dad, who called these flowers ‘naked ladies.’ Each time I witness this celebration of life, it fills me with a deep sense of being connected to Dad, who left us many years ago. The abrupt bloom is just as meaningful as the dying off. These lovely bursts of life and death offer a poignant reminder of the law of impermanence and the natural rhythm of letting go.

Because these surprise lilies bring back such fond memories of Dad, we planted a handful of bulbs on his grave. In the spring, the elegant, curving leaves appear. We are not around enough to see them fade, but we believe the groundskeepers cut them back. Then, in August, the stalks rise and bloom. It’s fun to imagine a day in the future when a sea of pink sways in the wind where Dad is buried.