Daylilies. The final word in that sentence is daylilies. And maybe roses. I’m not sure if I planted enough of either.

I’ve just returned from more time in the mountains of the western part of Virginia, and I returned to a flower explosion. I like that. Yes, I probably planted a few things too close to one another, but hey, I can always move them in the fall. And no matter how carefully I scan the planting guidelines, I never get the distancing right. That is mostly because nothing ever grows to the size stated in those guidelines — most plants get at least two times bigger than specified!

I planted daylilies for three reasons: first, because they are so easy to grow; second, because they are my namesake, and third, well, I just prefer them to other varieties of lilies. Oh, the namesake thing? Well, if you have ever played the “what does that name mean” game, you will know that my name, Susan, comes from the Hebrew language, specifically, the root ssn or, if you want to get fancy, שׁוֹשָׁן. The common name is Shoshana, or, in English, Susan. This simple fact is probably the reason that I spent so many years learning Biblical Hebrew.

Symbolically, lilies are associated with everything from purity, to rebirth, prosperity and abundance. That’s not such a bad list. But, imagine my surprise, when I stumbled onto this fun fact: in modern Hebrew, ssn or Shoshana, is translated as rose, not lily. So my choice of garden plantings seems even more appropriate, reflecting both old and new. And my new rose bushes are also thriving.

I discovered something about these past months and years as I wandered my mountain kingdom for the last week. I have, as time passed, become more and more interested in the small things in life, the small pieces of beauty before me, like my lilies and my roses. And my photographic inclinations reflect that focus over time. When I look at the very first images I captured on my morning rambles in the early days of pandemic closures and cares, I took pictures of the sunrise, of the street, of the parks, of the larger landscape around me. While I do still respond to a beautiful landscape with a photographic impulse, I am more likely to stand for 20 minutes waiting for the rabbit up the path to stand still while I capture his/her form in the morning mist.

Ultimately, photography is about vision, about what we see in the moment, and who among us can say that our vision of our lives and of this world around us has not been forever altered by the past few years? I am only beginning to be able to ask the questions that will help me understand the how of these changes. And beautiful flowers on a bright spring morning sure do help ease the way, particularly when their beauty sings my name back to me in full chorus.