Don’t pay attention to the calendar (that doesn’t mean anything), the declining temperature (those swings in temps are just due to climate change) or Al Roker (food is his thing – not the weather). Pay attention to me. I have the best indicator for the change of seasons. There are tons of bulbs that pop up around my house all year long. Over the years, I’ve gathered and moved some but mostly I just leave them alone and let them do as they please.
My grandmother calls these Red Spider Lilies. I’m not sure that’s really what they are called; Granny is 97 and still terrorizing the old folk’s home, so she’s obviously gotten something right. Anyway, I can accurately predict the fall season by these lilies. Regardless of the temperature, the day these bulbs start poking themselves out of the ground, I know I’ll have only three more weeks before I have to put away my sarong & flip flops. I’ll have to mothball my standard daily uniform of Gap boxer shorts and tee shirts and actually start wearing clothes again. Three weeks ago it was around 87 here and I was still splashing around in the pool with a glass of wine, when I saw the first spider lily appear. Sure enough I’ve now been forced to put on pants that go below the knee and socks on my feet! I guess I’ll need to get my ass to ATL and get my full length mink out of storage soon!
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