Index of Articles

Alert the media! There’s something to crow about: Giant lilies in bloom! But look quick, ’cause they are fading fast. One lily in my garden, reputed to be the tallest in the world, has grown to 8 feet. Another is about 6 and a half feet. And 12-footers are not unusual. Cock-a-doodle-doo!

I’ve waited two years for this moment, and by golly it is a sight to behold.

These giant lilies (Cardiocrinum giganteum) have such spectacular, 7-inch-long, trumpet-shaped flowers that I’m surprised you can’t hear them heralding from there. And the scent is something I’ve never experienced. Easier to enjoy than explain, but the flowers smell sort of “warm,” like a spicy vanilla.

And picture this, the stalk is the size of a half dollar in circumference.

This week I’ve been running around the block like a ninny, begging my favorite neighbors to come look. It’s that amazing to me. And it’s cute as the dickens watching the sweet lady with gray hair next door stretch all the way up on her tippy toes trying to reach the first flower — waaaaay up there — for a smell.

While most lilies are sun lovers, the giant lily wants shade. It’s native to China, Burma, India and Nepal — climates far more exotic than I can offer. Nonetheless, the giants have blossomed in a woodland setting beneath some tall Douglas firs that can be seen from the kitchen window.

They didn’t bloom last year, just sported heart-shaped leaves on an average-sized stalk. Apparently this, too, is par for the course. The man who grew them from seed spent nine years mollycoddling the seeds into bulbs big enough to flower and sell, at which time the bulbs were the size of grapefruit.

It did take some digging to find a bulb or two that I could afford. (This is where 20 years as a television reporter and anchor finally paid off.) It started the way it usually starts with us plant people — with an old-fashioned case of plant lust. I got a chi-chi plant catalog full of glossy photos of rare plants. I took one look at this giant lily and was completely mesmerized.

As usual, my heart sank when I saw the price: $80 to $100 a bulb. (Here’s the equation in the plant world: New = expensive.)

At that point, I got to wondering where the bulbs are grown. Over the years, I’ve come to learn that almost everything is grown right here in the Northwest, given the fact that our climate is God’s gift to growing.

Then a friend told me that one of the guys who grows them, Bob Long, lives outside Salem. When I tracked him down, Long had hundreds, if not more, blooming at one time! I still have a mental picture of him standing in his field of giant lilies looking Lilliputian as his neck cranes upward at all of the flowers.

Bob’s kind of a plant collector. Well, not kind of … he is. His Macleay Perennial Gardens displays one unusual plant after another. He sells the “Cardio lilies” (my slang, not his) at a price that won’t make your heart stop. And that is how I came to own this giant.

Now I hope that the giant lily won’t become history in my garden. Although other garden-variety lilies will bloom year after year if they like where they are planted, the bulb, stalk and flowers of the giant lily die. Dead. Kaput. Years of waiting and ppfft, kiss it goodbye.

Despite that, I have not given up hope that I will get another giant lily to bloom in the future. Bob tells me that in the spring, I can gently pull the baby bulbs (offsets) from the clutches of their dead mother and plant them. Those offsets should bloom, someday. But by that time, we will have cleaned a lot of dirt from under our fingernails, my friend.

Giant lilies. Elusive and lovely. And every bit worth the wait.