Seventeen years of blooming, and then the concrete cracked
The blue lotus opens with the sunrise and closes at dusk. To the ancient Egyptians it was the flower of rebirth. The English called it the Nile Lily. It has nearly vanished from the wild Nile.
In a garden on the west bank of Luxor, near the Temple of Hatshepsut, these lotuses have been tended for seventeen years by Mary Lomando. It started as a small pond. As the plants took, the pond was dug wider and deeper to hold them. Papyrus and pink water lilies grow at the banks. Kingfishers and sparrows nest in the reeds.
The garden has been carried by Mary with quiet help from a few friends over the years, never publicly and never at this scale.
They came through seventeen summers. What has changed is the heat. Egypt is running hotter than it did, and this year the concrete gave.
Six weeks ago the pond was full of open flowers. Then the water began leaking out through the crack. It now drains faster than it can be refilled. The pads have collapsed against the sides and the lotus crowns, root masses that took seventeen years to establish, are lying exposed above the water line. Once the rhizomes dry out fully they cannot be revived.
We have days, not months.







