the air is always clearest on the day after a cold front blows in so my mom and i went down to Trough Creek State Park to see what sorts of spring wildflowers they might have
the redbud was at its height all along the little back roads and in the park too. always a treat to see it. we’re so lucky to live right at the northern edge of its range—it’s one of those shrubs that defines Appalachia, along with pawpaw and shadbush/serviceberry. (didn’t stop the car to snap any photos though, sorry)
after poking around the park’s usual medley of eccentric geological offerings we headed off along a trail through the adjacent state forest which had many of the same wildflower species we have in Plummer’s Hollow but some different ones as well, including bluets, early meadow rue, pussytoes, and yellow corydalis—a new one for both of us
after a mile we reached an area where the spring beauties carpeted the ground for acres. Mom commented she hadn’t seen it like that since she was a child in the 1940s, visiting relatives in Pottstown. it’s difficult to convey this in a photo of course—they’re small flowers
they also had no shortage of rue anemone:
i was taken by this sphagnum container garden:
and for sheer visual interest, rattlesnake weed is always worth a stop:
back home i went for an after-supper walk along the crest of the western ridge toward sunset. the cherries, maples and witch hazels that have just burst their buds added pointillist splashes of color to the landscape that weren’t there two days ago
just after sunset i had a short sit by the vernal pools—the smallest two of which have nearly dried up, the water that remains heaving with desperate tadpoles—to read a few poems from (CREATURE SOUNDS FADE) by Shanna Compton and they were a pretty good fit. it’s experimental poetry meaning inevitably some results will be more exciting than others but if the experiment is well conducted we can learn from it regardless
that sphagnum bottle has a haiku in it i’ll bet
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- April Diary: premature encapsulation
- April Diary 2: talking frogs and brush strokes
- April Diary 3: stag beetle, wolf spider and fly
- April Diary 4: immersion
- April Diary 5: Dutchman’s breeches, sorcery, glutes
- April Diary 6: freedom, haiku, and Roscoe Holcomb
- April Diary 7: wolfish
- April Diary 9: sapsuckers, beginner’s mind, and Phoebe Giannisi
- April Diary 8: talking mushrooms, Utnapishtim, dead poet society
- April Diary 10: on not following myself
- April Diary 11: you may already be obsolete
- April Diary 12: flowers in hell
- April Diary 14: cardinal, coyote, owl
- April Diary 13: wildflowery
- April Diary 15: all my best friends are books
- April Diary 16: deer trails
- April Diary 17: comfort creatures
- April Diary 18: cruelest month, new Rumi, carpe noctem
- April Diary 19: onion snow
- April Diary 20: balancing on one foot, waiting for Armageddon
- April Diary 21: Where are the snows of yesterday?
- April Diary 22: serious riddles
- April Diary 23: earthy day
- April Diary 24: dueling banjos, a roomier Rumi, and some moving art
- April Diary 25: migration time
- April Diary 26: where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
- April Diary 27: half steam ahead!
- April Diary 28: failing upward, tumbleweed, new beasts
- April Diary 29: wildflowery
- April Diary 30: aging in place
- April Diary 31: in conclusion