“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
“Winter is dead.
“Try not to step on them,” said my daughter. I looked across the woodland floor and sighed. The carpet of Trout Lilies was impressively thick and wide. And, ironically, I was smack dab in the middle of nature’s spring gift.
“Um, I might have to step on a few,” I said. “But I’ll do my best.” I tip-toed and sidestepped like an odd version of the foxtrot that will never make it to Dancing With The Stars. I wanted to avoid the plants, but since levitation is not one of my skill sets, I know I squished some. Sorry!
I understand my daughter’s concern. She and my son-in-law bought land near Nerstrand Big Woods State Park about a year ago, and have been delighting in each plant, tree, and sunrise/sunset. They know they have something special and want to respect the balance that exists.
As for me, well, I’ve been anticipating the chance to photograph the Trout Lily ever since I heard about the spring flower and its dappled leaves.
Even rarer, and endangered, is the Dwarf Trout Lily. I’m hoping to see some of those, too, in the days to come if my timing is right.
And that’s the thing. Winter got comfortable in these parts and refused to check out. Spring had no choice but to arrive late. By way of apology, the season has exploded and I know its flowers will come and go in a blink.
Last week, when my daughter and I took a walk on their land, brown leaves shielded the forest floor. Today it rippled with flowers. Tomorrow ????
I’d better keep my camera handy.
As much as I’d like to linger, savor, and photograph, nature has a schedule… and she’s not texting me the details.