Photography, Poetry, Gardening
The Evolution of a Paperwhite
From “dragon’s claws” reaching through the soil to a leggy flower reaching for the sky
Narcissus papyraceus, or paperwhites, as they are more commonly known, arrived in our kitchen windows via Greece, Portugal and other Mediterranean climes, where they are native bulbs. But each year, you can find them tottering on tall, thin stems in garden windows all over the world in December.
Each year, I plant my holiday paperwhites in the garden after they are done blooming, and I am always a bit surprised and delighted when they begin to blossom in November. The photo below is this year’s blooming of an indoor paperwhite of years’ past.
Last year, I photographed the evolution of my paperwhites’ unfurling.
It began like this:
I was washing dishes at my kitchen sink and was struck by how much the new sprouts looked like dragon’s claws reaching up through the soil.
Dragon’s Claws
Like dragons’ claws, they clutch the soil, scraping their way past flattened granite, pushing into the pale light seeping through the eucalyptus and pines and into my kitchen window. Forced into being in a time that was never their own.
Ancient tendons, pointed ribs of green, fluorescent pencil nibs curving into the sun.
What eon do they think they’re in?
Lukewarm waterings. Six-inch pots.
A taste of the wild, tamed into modern existence, pressured into sprouting, purely for our human joy.
In just a few, short, days, they broke free from the dirt. You might notice that I placed small rocks in with the dirt to help give them support as they get taller.
And lo-and-behold, one day we had some blooms!
Glorious beauty, reaching towards the eucalyptus trees arching overhead — I wonder if they wish they were free of the confines of that kitchen window?
They turn their little faces towards the sun.
Two bulbs were clearly ahead of the others, timing-wise. But a third one was catching up.
And then, one day, it began to peel itself open.
And then, there were three in full bloom.
And then, a fourth began to unfurl.
And as the final bulbs began to bud in all of their glory, the first one began to fade and droop.
But we all know that there is a certain beauty that comes with age. It’s not the same as that initial burst of freshness that comes with youth. But there is an air of wisdom, a sense of a return to the bosom of the earth, from whence we all emerged.
And then, the cycle starts anew.
I’ve just potted up this year’s paperwhites.
And the journey begins all over again.
Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).
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Story and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.
