The red spider lily bulb bursts into a blood-red bloom briefly in the fall – when the days and nights are the same length, when the soil is neither scorched nor frozen, when the sun rises and sets with cardinal precision. And when planted precisely at the correct depth. That may give you the impression that she’s a diva, as fragile as her spidery flower appears to be. But if the days and nights are akimbo, and the soil is scorched or frozen, and the sun is well off its course, red spider lily can wait for years in the dark earth until her terms are met.

According to legend, three Lycoris radiata bulbs were brought to nearby New Bern, North Carolina aboard one of Commodore William Perry’s innovative steam-powered ships, returned from the 1854 opening of Japanese ports. They were given to an avid local gardener by the name of Lavinia Cole Roberts, who planted them with low expectations, describing the dessicated bulbs as being “in such a dry condition that they did not show signs of life until the War between the States.”

Let’s assume Lavinia didn’t deposit the bulb beneath the six inches of earth demanded. No matter. The spider lily can shift herself slowly to the proper depth over many years, and she will, and when she does, she will celebrate with one glorious cherry bomb before sinking back into her dirt-bed slumber.

In Japan, red spider lilies are frequently found in cemeteries, like hellebore, and so her flaming petals are said to guide souls into the afterlife. She is also associated with the fall celebration of Ohigan, which takes place during the equinox, just as the red spider lilies are in bloom. Ohigan means “the other shore,” and as you might expect, it’s an observance of deceased ancestors who dwell on distant shores where we the living may not tread.

Ohigan also means “enlightenment.” According to Buddhist tradition, most of us live in a world of delusions that cause pain and grief and anger and on and on and on. Through the practice of perfect compassion and perfect understanding, we may escape the round of earthly suffering in this lifetime, or so says the Buddha. We may attain the far shore of enlightenment: perfect harmony and balance, perfect conditions for flowering into our most vibrant selves.

If you’re like me, perfect compassion and perfect understanding feels like a tall order, but it’s called practice for a reason. You’re not meant to be good at it. You’re meant to get better at it over time by working at it, like the spider lily bulb working her way to her ideal depth.

Spider lily doesn’t burn herself out trying to bloom year-round or in garbage conditions. She has compassion for herself. She understands what she needs to thrive. She reminds us that we, too, can seek out conditions that are better for our blooming and that once we’ve burst into bloom, taking a nice long nap is 100% appropriate. Because nobody, not even red spider lily, can maintain perfection indefinitely.

In Japan, the red spider lily is part of a rich symbolic language rooted in folklore, but I’m not going to write about that because Seattle-based writer, naturalist, and photographer Kelly Brenner has already done it beautifully on her blog. If you’re reading this and you want to know how the red spider lily found its way into Japanese cemeteries and what part the flower plays in a tale of two star-crossed fairy lovers, go read Brenner’s article “Folklore & Nature: The Death Flower.”

Botanical Information

Scientific Name: Lycoris radiata

Folk Names: Red Spider Lily, Hurricane Lily, Hell Flower, Ghost Flower, Flower of Death, Red Magic Lily, Higanbana (Ohigan Flower)

Family: Amaryllidaceae

Habitat and Distribution: Lycoris radiata is a perennial herbaceous plant native to East Asia, particularly China, Korea, and Nepal, that has also naturalized in parts of Japan and the southeastern United States. It usually grows in damp locations, such as the edges of paddy fields, riverbanks, and grassy slopes, and it blooms after heavy rains, typically in late summer or early autumn.

Cultural Uses: Apart from its cultural symbolism, Lycoris radiata is also used in traditional medicine in some cultures, and it was frequently planted to ward off pests owing to its toxic roots system.

References & Inspiration

“The Dhamma in Buddhism.” BBC.

Lavinia “Venie” Roberts Papers (#1428), East Carolina Manuscript Collection, J. Y. Joyner Library, East Carolina University, Greenville, North Carolina, USA.

“Spider Lily (Lycoris radiata).” Perry Mathewes for Southern Garden History Society.

“Why We Celebrate Ohigan.” Reverend Jay Shinseki for Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

The Red Spider Lilies mark a deadly boundary.

In a secluded village, each autumnal equinox, the Lycoris radiata flowers bloom, marking a haunted zone between the world of the living and the damned. Locals whisper that these aren’t just flowers, but restless spirits waiting to drag the guileless into their underworld.

Your protagonist, an outsider, is drawn to the village by these mysterious lilies. But once there, they begin to experience chilling visions and hear ghostly whispers. The lilies seem to hunger for something, or someone.

What happens when night falls, and the lilies glow blood-red? Can the protagonist escape the village or will they be overpowered by the plant’s toxic roots?