My father influenced my love of the plant world more than anyone. I can hardly turn around without seeing a plant that makes me think of him.He grew up on the family farm which had been homesteaded by his grandfather. He always intended to farm it, I suppose. But after World War II, farming changed quite a bit and no longer could a farmer expect to support a family on 160 acres. The homestead stayed in the family for another six decades, though none of us lived or worked there. He, however, studied at universities in several states, earned a PhD in agronomy, and ended up as a college instructor, sharing his love for plants and agriculture with his students. His love for gardening and plants never waned. Nor did his sense of humor.

The Stephelia (Star Flower, Carrion plant) I inherited from my father is testament to his good humor. I have to chuckle remembering him when its buds pop open every autumn. Rather than attracting bees and butterflies, the Stephelia’s “fragrance” attracts houseflies. “A stinky plant,” says my sister.But its flowers are singularly remarkable. I understand why Daddy was fascinated with this succulent. This past summer was a good year for the Stephelia and it offered a stunning display of blossoms. I felt my dad close by as the buds swelled and then burst open into palm-sized blossoms covered in fuzz. Every year lately they have been awesome, in spite of the fragrance.

Like his mother, Daddy tended a large garden every year. He devoted a circular plot in his driveway to flowers. When time came to thin the bulbs, he eagerly shared iris bulbs with us, as well as those he called “naked ladies.” Other folks refer to them as “surprise lilies.” They aren’t true lilies, but instead belong to the amaryllis family. The bulbs send up green leaves early in the spring, but then die down so that you forget all about them until the leafless flower stalks shoot up, seemingly overnight, in late July. And they are magnificent, covered with striking pink flowers.

One year, after the surprise lilies Daddy shared with us had wilted, I noticed a thinner stalk with small red flowers erupt. I’d never seen anything like these September blooming “red spider lilies” before, and had no idea where they might have originated. I thought perhaps we had a mutated version of the pink naked ladies. The red version was astounding and vivid and inspired me to add them as “characters” in my first suspense novel, Sundrop Sonata. (More on these red spider lilies tomorrow.)

With plants that bloom at different times of the year, and the Stephelia that requires care indoors during winter months,I feel close to my dad many times each day. Though I miss my folks very much, they are with me in the thriving plants they shared long ago.