The Naked Ladies of Mendocino

(Don’t worry, you don’t have to hide this from your mother)

“What are these, mom?” My siblings and I pointed childishly inquisitive fingers at the slender, ruby-brown stalks topped with nodding clusters of pink flowers that were exploding in our front yard into soft trumpets of summer color. Mom smiled as she looked over at us from where she was pruning back the silvery branches of the dusty miller. “Those are called Naked Ladies,” she said. Our young mouths gaped open – we couldn’t believe our mother had just said those words out loud. We may have only been around 7 to 10 years old, but we had a pretty good idea of what was considered proper, and talking about naked ladies most definitely seemed like it wouldn’t be on that list! We stifled giggles at the scandalous name. Then of course our curiosity got the better of us, and we had to ask that favorite question of every child ever… “But why?”

“Do you see how these flowers don’t have any leaves? All the leaves die back in late spring, so when the flowers sprout out of the ground, they look naked. And the blooms are beautiful, like a lovely lady. That’s why they’re called Naked Ladies.” We could see the logic behind her explanation, but we still couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles at that name. For I don’t even remember how long after that, we made constant jokes about there being naked ladies out in the yard. Classic example: “(friend of choice), don’t look! There’s a Naked Lady in the garden!” This was inevitably followed by utter confusion on the part of our poor, unwitting friend, and hilarious laughter on ours. Oh, the humor of childhood.

Part of the patch along Rotary Park.

This was the memory that came to mind when I moved to Mendocino many, many years later and saw the lovely pink of the Amaryllis Belladona sprouting from yards and gardens all over. “Eeek! Naked Ladies everywhere!” My inner dialogue got a little giggly as I remembered our childish jokes of long ago. Such humor continues to amuse me, to be totally honest, and I take delight in watching grown men blush as I let them know that the flower they are asking me about is none other than the lovely Naked Lady.

Silliness aside though, the Naked Lady, or Naked Lady Lily, or Amaryllis Belladona is one of my favorite parts of August here on the Mendocino coast. It seems to spring up, wild and beautiful, in the most unexpected places, bringing wonderfully bright bursts of pink to the landscape. There is one particularly glorious patch along the edge of Rotary Park in downtown Mendocino that stretches out, full and lush, for almost the entire block. I love watching in late July as the flower stalks start to sprout from the bare earth. They always remind me of some kind of alien seaweed at that point, devoid as they are of anything leaf-like, and with pointed clusters of buds that look vaguely like so many gooseneck barnacles sinuously poking their chins to the sky. Then the buds start to unfurl. And oh, how lovely they are. Fluffy clouds of pink all clustered together, each flower a white-centered star of some indefinable shade halfway between fuchsia and rose.  And their sweet scent is pretty powerful too - if you happen to be sitting on a picnic blanket nearby, their perfume wafts over you like a sort of natural potpourri.

An unfurled cluster of buds

If you want to catch the Naked Ladies at their peak season, come sometime in August. While the season varies slightly each year, depending on weather, they tend to be fullest in the earlier and middle parts of the month and continue blooming into September.

Love flowers but can’t make it in August? Keep in mind that the rhododendrons and calla lilies, which grow wild along the Mendocino coast, are in full bloom around late spring. And the dahlias are still exploding in September. Come at the tail end of winter to catch all the daffodils and wild irises, and check out all the other lovely wildflowers that dot the woods and bluffs in early spring.

Amaryllis Belladona nestled in amongst the Sweat Peas at the entrance to the inn’s driveway

Words & pictures by Laura Hockett