Field Notes: Spring 2024

Small noticing, big impact

On this rainy afternoon I’m looking for greens of spring ephemerals. Instead a bright red oval stands out among the browns of fallen leaves. My curiosity piqued, I step closer to admire this tiny delight. And stop three more times, adoring some even tinier ones.

At home, over a cup of tea, I consult a field guide and learn my new acquaintance is Scarlet Cup. “March to May, sometimes later,” I read and feel this small piece of information ripple into a big revelation.

“Of course, Asha. Of course some fungi fruit in the spring, not just in the summer and fall.” I say. It seems so obvious, yet I hadn’t understood this before.

My awareness of the spring woods is forever changed.

Scene: Woods in the Northeast

Asha walks ahead of Marilyn on a dirt road. Sun is shining. Light breeze.

Marilyn: Look, Asha, Bloodroot!

Marilyn sits down next to the small white flowers with egg-yolk yellow pollen. Asha sits beside her.

Norma (aka Marilyn’s inner critic) enters stage left.

Norma: You’ve already seen Bloodroot this spring. Why the big deal again today?

Marilyn: Oh, Norma, Norma, Norma. The Bloodroot I saw yesterday weren’t in bloom yet, but some of these are. And look how the single gray-green leaf curls around the stem. Doesn’t that remind you of a shawl? Each Bloodroot is worth exclaiming over, to be praised anew. After all, I don’t say to my beloved, “I hugged you yesterday. No more until next spring.”

Norma exits stage right.

Momentum

uncurling, unfurling, unfolding, unpleating,
emerging, growing, blossoming, coloring
stretching, straightening

trees and shrubs and flowers and ferns
reeds and rushes, sedges and grasses

“Slow down. Please.” I silently plead.

I want more time to witness your staggering beauty,
the magnificent nuance of your timings and openings,
your colors and shapes and your textures.

I want to linger in your emergence — in this becoming.

Postcard to the Woods #3

Dear Woods,

I’ve returned from deeply nourishing walk with Asha and am writing you a quick note to say:

You are stunning in your mid-spring appearance.

I am in awe of your beauty, your diversity and am so grateful for your amazingness.

Just wanted you to know,
Marilyn

The week of smittenness

Monday – the remarkable repertoire of Gray Catbird
Tuesday – the maroon of tender oak leaves
Wednesday – the chestnut sides of Chestnut-sided Warbler and the yellow throat of Common Yellowthroat
Thursday – the curling tips of Ostrich Fern leaflets
Friday – the bobbing rear end of Louisiana Waterthrush
Saturday – the maple seedling carpet obscuring the trail
Sunday – the scarlet and lemon of Wild Columbine and the bright pink of Fringed Polygala

Every day – the joy of being alive

Befitting of an adult?

Dear Wonder,

I love to walk in the woods with my dog. You and your cousins Joy, Delight and Awe are frequent companions on our walks.

Just this morning, I stopped abruptly with a “Wow!” upon seeing winged seeds dangling in long clusters from a fallen Striped Maple.

I have a question for you …

Does it bother you when people describe this full-body, in-the-moment response as childlike wonder or a childlike sense of wonder?

I ask because I’ve never heard anyone talk about adultlike wonder or an adultlike sense of wonder. Is that because exuberant, unedited delight isn’t considered befitting of adults? If not, then why the hell not?

I know I’m not the only adult who marvels, who becomes captivated and enthralled.

Aren’t you by definition – for all ages – about rapt attention and amazement, admiration and astonishment?

Thanks for hearing me out,
Marilyn

P.S. For the record, I don’t plan to stop being astonished.