Stargazing in the Garden--August Means Fragrant "Stargazer" Lilies

The return of August each year reawakens my love for this eighth month, a love sweetly burdened with poignancy. Summer, like the youth that imbued it with memories, cannot last. In my mind, if not in reality, it has always felt warm, lazy, slightly sad, fully ripe with maturity before the fall, a time of endings and goodbyes and evenings bathed in moonglow. On still afternoons the air barely moves, heavy and fragrant with the garden's last roses and the perfume of lilies. The Stargazer lilies bloom in August, like always, and once again I have stars in my eyes.

Last night I did a search on the internet and made three delightful discoveries related to these fragrant beauties. One was a specialty nursery in Olympia, Washington, called The Lily Pad Bulb Farm. The other was the website of the North American Lily Society. The opening page is not very colorful but if you click on the tabs you will find many photos and a great deal of helpful information. And here is the link to the Pacific Bulb Society, with many more lovely images of these and other lilies. Stargazer lilies belong to the Oriental Hybrid horticultural classification, which contains many others of comparable beauty and fragrance.

In case you can't wait, here are two more lovelies from my own Tacoma garden. Enjoy them. May the lilies, and the month of August, remind you that all we really have is the moment we're in right now, so savor each and every one to add to your sweet August memories.

August Twilight at Point Defiance

Every day of our lives includes twilight, an event that occurs 365 times each year and is often ignored. Then after it happens, we realize the light is gone. Every 24 hours twilight arrives, brief and silent, but with a message as clear as the cry of a gull. Are you listening? It reminds us of this request of life, one you've heard so much that it too is ignored: "Be present in the moment."

















Last Monday evening, with a profound awareness of that message, I walked along the beach at Tacoma's Point Defiance Park with three other people. We witnessed a melding of sea and sky, day and night, like I'd never seen before. The tide on that occasion was high against the bulkhead, so high it seemed we could reach out and touch the water of Puget Sound as it spread like rippled satin in shades of apricot, lavender, plum, and indigo, still touched by the distant luminosity of a sunset just missed. Our friend, so affected by the scene, almost whispered, "How do you even begin to describe this?" I've tried here, but he and the others could tell you I've failed. My best efforts can't equal the experience of "presence."

Around sunset last evening I once again craved the beach. I went down to Point Defiance with my camera, hoping to find that scene again. What I found had its own beauty, a sense of peace and tranquility and the essence of the maritime Northwest. But I can't give you what I witnessed on Monday night. Those moments are gone, except in memory, and even the best memories are less than what "now" has to offer. If I had known that fact in the past, I would have wrapped my arms around all those other pieces of what was then the present and cherished them more deeply.

The present, like the look in a person's eyes, the taste of food, a whiff of the sea, a musical harmony, a gentle touch, and especially the company of beloved souls, must be savored with gratitude during that very second. What have you missed already, that will never come again? Have you ever tried to hang on to the sound of a loved one's voice after they are gone? Did you ever wish for just a few more seconds during an embrace, or a snippet of time from a long ago childhood? These things all slip away.

August enters it's last phase and we notice the days getting shorter. Tonight, when twilight returns, as brief and silent as always, just be still and think about what it symbolizes. These moments are your life and tomorrow's memories. Don't forget to pay attention.

Copyright 2010 Candace J. Brown