By Ron Sinclair
They robbed the grave to get the flowers. And they did it in broad daylight.
They knew they didn’t have to dig as deep as their Mama was buried. And besides, Mama wouldn’t miss them anyhow. She had loved those flowers, but they had gotten out of control in the cemetery plot, and the daughters knew other families would complain if they didn’t do something to stop them from spreading further. So they took their shovels and buckets and grocery bags to the cemetery and commenced to diggin’. Each of the four daughters took some home to plant in their own gardens, or maybe even to give to friends. That’s how many there were, and they didn’t even get them all. Marcia’s mom was one of the diggers.
The plant’s official name is “Crinum powellii alba.” The more common name is “Cape Lily.” Southern Living did an article on the plant and they described it as “a spectacular, cold-hardy bulbous perennial featuring large, fragrant, snow-white trumpet-shaped flowers atop 3 to 4-foot scapes. It blooms from late spring through fall and thrives in warm, humid climates across zones 7-10.” Mature bulbs can be quite large, growing to the size of a man’s fist, and they spread in clumps from the mature bulb. And they liked Mama’s gravesite.
No one knew exactly how the first bulb got from Mama’s farm onto Mama’s grave. None of the daughters would confess to having planted it there. When they bloomed, they did look spectacular. So at first it was not a problem.
When we moved to our farm, Marcia’s mom made a gift of some of the bulbs so we could plant them on the place. Marcia was thrilled because she knew they came from the grandmother that she had dearly loved to visit as a child. As a little girl she would follow her grandmother all around grandma’s farm, working in the garden, feeding the chickens, picking apples and carefully watching her idol’s every move. It was a special bond.
As our own landscape evolved, Marcia began collecting native perennials and adding them to our gardens. What began as grass covered hard soil became lush beds of flowers and vegetables growing on soil enriched by layer upon layer of compost, manure and mulch. Marcia believed in the “no till” gardening method recommended by one of her heroes, Ruth Stout. (Ruth Stout gardened in the nude, but I could never convince Marcia that was a good idea.)
Eventually the gardens grew to a point where Marcia was dividing and giving away plants to neighbors and friends. That finally evolved into contacting local nurseries and greenhouses to sell them more than 50 varieties of perennials that she had cultivated. And the grand prize of them all? It was the crinum Powellii alba that had been taken from her grandmother’s grave.
We discovered that mature crinum bulbs were selling for as much as $40 each! We figured we had at least 500 of them in our gardens, all from the original bulbs we received as a gift from Marcia’s grandmother’s grave. I found nurseries would jump at the chance to pay us $25 each for a single mature bulb. It became a lucrative cash crop for us.
Nothing good lasts forever, and after a couple of years the novelty of what had been considered a rare bulb for one’s garden wore down a bit. Perhaps it was less popular because once planted, folks divided and gave the plants to friends and neighbors, and didn’t need to buy them any longer.
At the peak of Marcia’s perennial business, we had almost two acres planted. There’s no telling how many one gallon containers of plants Marcia dug, potted and delivered to nurseries in an area from Greensboro to Charlotte to Asheville. It was hard work, and eventually time caught up with us both. Our perennial gardens are reduced to ones lining the walkway to our house. The rest have been planted over with shrubs, trees and grass. Marcia still grows vegetables, but in 3’ tall container beds in an effort to eliminate bending to tend the plants.
The bulbs taken from Marcia’s grandmother’s grave have spread to homes all over the southeast. Every year, friends and family send us pictures of their crinum in bloom and tell us how much they appreciate their beauty. And of course, we see them all around town where we gave them to friends, and they in turn gave some of the offspring to others. And every time we pass crinum in bloom, we can’t help but smile.
The legacy of Marcia’s grandmother goes beyond the mere beauty of flowers. So much of who Marcia is today is rooted in the love she had for her grandmother. I wish I had known her grandmother. But there is hardly a day that goes by without me saying “thank you” for her gifts that continue to bless this world through her flowers, and especially, through her granddaughter.
© Ron Sinclair, June 2026
Appalachian Chronicle 