Why I Planted Tiger Lilies

When I was growing up, my family always drove to Fowler, Indiana, to see the fireworks on the Fourth of July. In the deepening dusk, anticipation grew until the crowd spotted the bobbing pink lights that were the wands the firemen used to ignite the rockets. A cheer went up, and, almost as quickly, so did the opening mortars with a whoosh soon followed by an explosion of vibrant colors.

I connect the spectacular bursts in the night sky with several “firsts” for me. At a very young age, I tasted my first cotton candy at the Fowler fireworks display. Later, I enjoyed my first coffee there. While I have not eaten cotton candy in many, many years, I am sipping a cup of coffee while I type this sentence.

I may have been in seventh grade when I was permitted to drink coffee. My father, mother, brother, and I were awaiting the fireworks. My father poured a cup of coffee from a thermos and handed the cup to my mother, who said, “Are you going to let Robert taste yours?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” my father asked.

“I think he’s old enough,” my mother observed.

My brother, a few years older than I, was already drinking coffee. My father poured a small amount into what was to be his cup and handed it to me. After I blew and blew on the coffee to cool it, I tried it. I loved the nutty flavor! I was hooked from that day forward, but, at first, I was permitted only the occasional cup.  

My Father's Tiger Lilies

I also connect fireworks with tiger lilies, which were my father’s favorite flowers. I think he conferred upon tiger lilies the special status of being his chosen blossoms because they were always in full bloom during his birthday in the third week of July.

The flamboyant lilies seem an incongruous choice of flower for my father, who was soft-spoken, mild, and gentle. I saw him lose his temper only once. It was when a sow broke through a barn door and escaped in the meadow. My father had gone to a lot of trouble to herd the pig into the stall, and, as he knew all too well, making a second attempt to coax the sow into the barn would be an exercise in futility. My father was unaware that I witnessed his anger. He thought he was alone, but I was hiding so as to surprise him when he walked past. Had I not observed his tantrum, I would tell you that he never lost his temper, and I really believe that he almost never did.

My Father Filling the Tank of the Farmall Tractor

Even though tiger lilies are loud and brassy, they are refined, and it is in their refinement that they share a characteristic with my father. A Valedictorian at a time long before any dumbing down of education, my father was intelligent, knowledgeable, and well spoken. He could compose and deliver a speech better than anyone, and such refinement finds an analogy in the tall stalks, exact leaves, and branching flowers of tiger lilies.

Tiger Lilies in Bright Sunlight

If you will make it a point to view such lilies after sundown on an endlessly mellow July evening—and if you will squint—you can imagine the flowers and the unopened buds as the pyrotechnic bursts and streaks of light from fireworks in the night sky.

Tiger Lilies Reminiscent of Fireworks

When my father passed away, a friend urged me to transplant at my home a clump of Dad’s cherished lilies. I did so, and, dependably, they have reached their fullest bloom during the week of my father’s birthday. They serve as a brilliant reminder of his life.