Thursday, March 8, 2012

THANKS FOR THE ACONITES


Yesterday, which unfolded into a glorious day drenched in sunshine with balmy temperatures that felt more like May than March, I visited a favorite riverine woodland a mile or so up the road. The freshet-full stream nearby hummed merrily along. Bankside willow tangles seemed filled with whistling cardinals. A stately heron wade-fished the murky shallows. 

Yet it wasn't birds that drew me. Rather, I came here, as I do each year, because of the winter aconites which carpet the earth in cadmium yellow.  But this time around I'm late, because the flowers have been in bloom for at least a month. 


Winter aconites always bloom early—before the crocus in my yard, before the skunk cabbage at the corner of a nearby bog, and weeks before the snow trilliums in the hillside woods a few miles from here. The only common garden flower that rivals their precociousness is the snowdrop, though its milky-white flowers blends in with the season and can seem rather a part of the winter landscape, while the aconite's gleaming yellow-gold seems, like Dorothy's road to Oz, to be leading the way to a more exciting place.         

I don't know who planted the original bulbs, or when—though it must have been long ago, for the low-growing plants and their bright cupped flowers have now spread to encompass several acres of moist, humus-rich floodplain. But whoever it was, and whenever they did it, I now give thanks for their farsighted gift.


Some years, when the winter has been harsh and shows no signs of relaxing it's grip upon the land—my visits here are all that keeps me going; the well from which I draw my cup of faith. It's annual attraction for me is as a place of reaffirmation to the eventual certainty of a changing season. Other years, during that fitful interregnum when winter is reluctantly turning to spring, the yellow blooms serve to simply reiterate the looming equinox and better days beyond.  

However, this strange year, when winter atypically failed to materialize, the impetus to visit was obviously not fueled by any sense of seasonal desperation or need to bolster my waning faith. Which is why I've been slow in making my rounds. Instead, I wanted to wait for the perfect day to heed the vernal desire to again walk among the huge old sycamores on this cheery aconite mantle. 
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16 comments:

Gail said...

HI GRIZZ - beautiful pictures and telling of your day to wander. And I read in awe and joy and honor for all that you do with natures as your compass. Such goings on inspires me to my core. I just love what guides you - drive you - inspires you - comforts and protects you and how nature gives you purpose.
Love to you
Gail
peace......

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

Thank you. I like the way you put it "with nature as your compass." True…God, nature, the way I was brought up with a love for people, music, fishing, books, adventure, good times and good food—family and friends. Those are the things that drive me; the things I hold important. I would doubtless be more "successful" if I'd have placed other things first, but I wouldn't have been happier. The soul of who I am is found in these few simply things, and I hope that always shows through within my posts.

BTW, it it really great news that your Mom is back at home and has come through her ordeal. I know you're elated. I hope she enjoyes spring and all the healing powers of this vernal season. Please give her my best wishes.

Again, dear friend—thank you.

Gail said...

Hi again -
I am so elated, we all are that our Mom has come home. It was our wish/prayer - and so it has come true. Hallelujah!

ANd also, of nature as your guide - it is truly so simple and life-giving and it does come through in every picture and every word you post. I am honored to know you and share in such wise and wondrous ways.
Love Gail
peace....

The Solitary Walker said...

Yes, we've had snowdrops and aconites in the wild, woodlandy bit of our garden for a while now: those welcome, pretty harbingers of spring.

Lovely piece, Grizz.

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

My worldview is anything but simplistic…but I know without the shadow of a doubt that life's richest and most sustaining moments—the times and values that matter—come simply, straightforwardly, without guile or pretense. Which isn't to say simple is always easy. When it comes to decisions, it's a near infallible rule that the harder choice is apt to be the right one. Then, the unfailing fallback rule is the Golden Rule: Do unto others…

Simple, really. And if I were truly wise, I'd never lead myself astray.

But you know these things already. You take such pleasure in having your mother back home because you know the simple blessings of family. Nothing beats being with those we love, because joy must be shared to be fully experienced. Friends and family—those we love—divide pain and multiply joy. Hearts don't run on money or success or good looks…they run on love. That's why your mother's homecoming is so wonderful—because you and your family know and practice the simple and indomitable power of love.

Grizz………… said...

Solitary…

I have neither aconites nor snowdrops in my yard, but a neighbor up the street does…and each year I look to her blooms (and these "wild" ones a mile or so up the road along the river) as certain signs of spring. They are invaluable when the seasons seem incapable of change and the heart is dark under winter's cold.

I'm glad you liked the post. Thank you.

DONY said...

Thanks for sharing this breath of spring. As RUMI says, "This being human is a guest house./Every morning a new arrival." Your thoughts were a welcome guest.

KGMom said...

Yes, thanks for the aconites.
However, those words don't roll off the tongue quite so readily as "thanks for the memories."

Spring is here--although, winter failed to show.

Grizz………… said...

DONY…

What a lovely metaphor. Thank you.

Grizz………… said...

KGMom…

Well, huh. I hadn't even thought of the title as a take-off on the old tune, doubtless with Bob Hope singing. (It does have the right number of syllables, however.) Honestly, I came at it from the "thank you, whoever you were, for those lovely yellow aconites" side—as if I literally talking to the planter of the bulbs.

Leave it to a poetry prof to ferret out an unintended echo.

Rowan said...

What a marvellous sight these are! I've never been able to get them to grow in my garden. Seeing these beautiful photographs I'm tempted to give it one more try:)

AfromTO said...

thanks for the flowery sunshine-great colour-after all that grey and white it is a burst of life.

Grizz………… said...

Rowan…

Thank you. They are pretty, especially so since they're practically the first thing to bloom, often when the ground is still covered with snow. And that bright yellow color looks so sunshiny and great!

I believe these are Eranthis hyemalis. I'm going to give them a try, too. I guess you can plant them as either fresh-divided tubers (spring) or like bulbs come fall, but that they can be tricky to get started. They seem to prefer humus-rich soil, well-drained, though it doesn't have to be too dry during the early months. These are growing on a floodplain forest, and are regularly underwater in winter/spring. They're in what will become deep shade when the leaves in the (mostly) sycamores come out.

Once you get them started, I think they'll do fine with no fuss thereafter…and I know you'll enjoy them.

Grizz………… said...

AfromTO…

Is it great how such color can lift the spirits? That's one of the reasons I always make the "aconite corner" one of my regular late-winter/early-spring stops.

Rowan said...

Hi Grizz, I suspect my problem before has been that I've planted tubers in the autumn and I suspect that they prefer to be planted in the green like snowdrops. I'm going to see whether there is a nursery selling them that way.

Grizz………… said...

Rowan…

I personally think the best way is by digging clumps of tubers in the spring, just after they've flowered. Divide by breaking apart. Then quickly get the fresh-dug tubers back into the ground—preferably all in the same day. Allowing aconite tubers to dry even a bit, let alone overnight, appears to be a fatal mistake.

Having said that, the truth is some folks do well with fall plantings. However, I'm going to try and get mine out within the next week or so.