The Audacity of Lily: My Mexican Orange Has Something to say

This is a picture of a Mexican Orange shrub taken from my garden. And yes, I know, at first glance, it is simply a photograph of a flowering shrub.

But I have decided to spend a little more time reflecting and writing about the things I see around me — ordinary things that perhaps deserve more than a passing look. Because sometimes, if you stop long enough to really look, the ordinary has quite a lot to say.

And apparently, so does my Mexican Orange.

It is the 26th of September here in England. The warmth of summer is slowly but surely slipping away. The mornings feel fresher. The evenings are drawing in. Autumn is hovering politely at the garden gate, preparing its annual colour festival.

This is the time of year when I expect the garden to start winding down. Leaves begin to turn. Flowers fade. Trees and shrubs prepare themselves for colder days. Nature starts putting things to bed.

Or so I thought.

Because a few mornings ago, I stepped outside and discovered fresh white blossoms all over my Mexican Orange shrub. Excuse me?! Had nobody informed this plant that summer was over? There she stood, covered in delicate little white flowers, filling the air with fragrance as though it were spring all over again.

And I found myself wondering: What kind of plant has the audacity to blossom twice a year?

Once in spring, when everybody expects it. And then again, just before autumn, when the rest of the garden is beginning to contemplate pyjamas and an early night.

That made me think. What would my Mexican Orange say if she could speak? Obviously, she needed a name first. So I have decided to call her Lily.

🌼 Allow Me to Introduce Lily…

"I am Lily. Pleased to meet you. Although, technically, I was born with the rather grand scientific name Choisya ternata. Humans also call me Mexican Orange."

"I always wondered why they called me that?!. First of all — Mexican? Fair enough. My ancestors come from Mexico and parts of the southwestern United States. But Orange?"

"Have you LOOKED at me?" I bloom in WHITE. Beautiful, elegant, fragrant white. Orange is definitely not my colour."

Lily has a point, but for information, the "orange" in Mexican Orange doesn't refer to the colour of her flowers. The name comes from the citrus-like fragrance of the foliage and flowers.

But I imagine Lily remains unconvinced.

"So somebody smelled me, thought 'orange', and that became my name forever?" Humans really are peculiar creatures. Personally, I think Lily suits me much better.🤍 White Is Much More My Colour. White. Pure. Elegant. Almost bridal. I could attend a wedding exactly as I am."

There is something wonderfully confident about those little white flowers. They aren't enormous. They aren't exotic-looking or particularly dramatic. They don't shout for attention. They simply appear among all that glossy green foliage, like tiny lights scattered across the garden.

And then there is the scent. Soft, sweet and citrusy. The sort of fragrance that catches you unexpectedly as you walk past and makes you turn around to find out where it came from.

Lily doesn't need to chase attention. She lets you discover her. And perhaps there is something rather lovely in that.

🌿 "You Thought I Was Finished?"

Mexican Orange is an evergreen perennial shrub. "Perennial" simply means that, unlike an annual plant that completes its life cycle within one growing season, Lily is built to come back year after year. And evergreen means she doesn't dramatically throw away all her leaves at the first hint of winter.

"Throw away my entire wardrobe because the temperature dropped?" Lily would probably say. Absolutely not."

Her leaves remain green through the seasons, giving the garden structure and colour even when many other plants have retreated for winter.

Lily is remarkably robust. Cold weather? "I'll manage." Grey skies? "Seen worse." English rain? "Please. Is that supposed to frighten me?"

Then spring arrives, and Lily produces her main flush of beautifully scented white flowers. Everyone admires her. Everyone tells her how lovely she looks.

And eventually the flowers fade. We assume the performance is over. Lily apparently does not. Because Mexican Orange shrubs can produce a second flush of flowers later in the year, particularly when conditions have suited them.

Which explains my September surprise. Just when I thought she had finished being pretty for the year, Lily essentially said: "Finished?" Darling, that was Act One."

🍂 And That Is What Made Me Think…

Perhaps that is why these unexpected September flowers stopped me in my tracks. There is something quietly rebellious about blooming when everyone assumes your season has passed.

We humans can become rather obsessed with timing. By this age, I should have achieved this. By now, I should have figured that out.

That opportunity has gone. I missed my moment. Everyone else seems further ahead. Perhaps I should be slowing down. Perhaps my season is over.

And meanwhile Lily is standing in my garden in late September, covered in flowers, apparently completely uninterested in anybody else's timetable. Maybe nature understands something that we sometimes forget.

There isn't always only one season in which we are allowed to bloom. Sometimes you flourish early. Sometimes you need to retreat for a while.

Sometimes you spend months simply being green — surviving, growing quietly, putting down roots where nobody can see them.

And sometimes, just when everyone — perhaps even you — assumes you are finished… you bloom again.

Not because somebody gave you permission. Not because the calendar said it was the appropriate moment. Simply because you were ready.

So perhaps I will start paying more attention to my garden. Not just to the spectacular things, but to the small surprises. The stubborn flowers. The changing leaves. The plants growing through cracks.

The things we walk past every day because we think we already know what they are. Perhaps they have stories to tell us.

And perhaps Lily's first lesson is a particularly good one:

"Keep your roots strong."

"Stay green through the difficult seasons."

"Don't panic when one flowering ends."

"And never allow somebody else's calendar to tell you when you're done blooming."

Then, I suspect, she would add:

"Also, if anybody asks, my name is Lily."

"Mexican Orange is merely what it says on the paperwork."

"And orange is STILL not my colour." 🌿🤍🍂

With Hope, Purpose & Vision

Joanne Reed

Head of Story Operations🤍

And if you enjoy discovering the little stories, observations, and occasional characters I find hiding in everyday life, you’re very welcome to join me on https://ko-fi.com/joannereed. It’s also a lovely way to support independent creators whose work brings a little something extra to your day. No pressure, of course; Lily demands attention, not admission fees.