From My Nature Journal: A Bloom for the Season

It’s called a Pasqueflower, a lovely of the high plains, mountain states and north.

Among the very first wildflowers of spring here in the foothills of Colorado, pasqueflowers sometimes even push up through light snowcover. And though I haven’t seen one yet this year, I took this photo in very early spring some time back. As a cold weather flower, they tend to stay close to the ground, about six inches tall, and often can be found as in this photo in drier, rocky areas that hold the warmth of the late winter sun.

Sometimes confused with tulips, it’s also called the Prairie Crocus, May Day Flower, and appropriately, Easter Flower: those of you who perceive the etymology of words might have guessed the latter. Pasque comes from paschal: ‘of, or relating to, Easter or Passover.’ Picking up on the symbolism within the Jewish celebration of Passover, where a lamb’s blood protected the Hebrew people from the ravages of death (see Exodus 12), Jesus, in 1 Corinthians 5:7, is referred to as our Passover, or paschal, lamb. Though there are other flowers also associated with the blood of Christ (the Rose and Bleeding Heart among them), the Pasqueflower is associated with Easter by the timing of the season.

And so, with those redeemed of Christ throughout nearly one and a half millennia, we pray:

O Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

O Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

O Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, grant us Your peace.

Interestingly, though the plant is full of toxins, its derivatives can be used medicinally for birthing/labor issues and certain vision impairments. These uses offer all kinds of possibilities for further spiritual symbolisms, connecting Easter life to our circumstances, if we wanted to go that route.

Finally, kudos to the State of South Dakota and the Canadian Province of Manitoba, both of which had the creative presence of mind to name the Pasqueflower their state/provincial bloom, though known there by different names.

~~RGM, From a Past Entry in my

Journal and on my Blog

From My Nature Journal: Consider the Lilies

We never anticipated so many.

Gail and I hit the Ridgeline Trail today outfitted with gear we had not actively hiked with before, at least in this way: an open notepad and pen. In the days prior we had noticed an amazing profusion of wildflowers in bloom, observing newly-opened ones almost every day. Finally, yesterday, we mused that we should bring paper and pen sometime soon and record how many we see. “There must be twenty-five or thirty,” one of us said.

So today we gave ourselves extra time for our regular three-mile circuit, and started recording from the moment we left the trailhead. Astonishingly, we had not even gotten off the feeder path before we had already surpassed the imagined number.

It was quite stunning, a magnificent diversity. In that small distance, we counted eighty-four different blooming wildflowers! Eighty-four! And this was a conservative count, especially because we had not the patience this time around to differentiate the varieties of vetches (at least four) and the plethora of penstemons (at least six); no doubt there were more of these ubiquitous species. Additionally, this count included only those very near the trail, and did not include tiny groundcovers, or the flowers in bud but not bloom. All told, there may well have been far more than a hundred.

Most of the plant names escaped us (an effort for another day), so we recorded them by color, character, and leaf shape, so as not to duplicate. Thirty of the eighty-four were shades of yellow (36%), nineteen purple (23%) and eighteen white (21%). The remaining were pinks, oranges, blues and corals. Many species there were that have been cultivated -- roses, geraniums, orchids, yarrows, asters, alyssums, clovers, forget-me-nots, daisies, alfalfas, lupines, sunflowers, spiderwort, potentillas, mallows, yuccas, sweet peas, larkspurs, harebells, trumpets, wallflowers, dogbanes, paintbrushes, flaxes and phloxes. There were even onions and cherries. But the more undomesticated were well-represented also -- arnicas, holly, other worts, thistles, prairie smoke, knapweeds, prickly poppy, banner flower, cacti, and who-knows-what-else.

…There they were, every one of

them in all their created glory.

Some were so odd as to almost defy description – fern-like, butterfly-shaped, spidery, fringed-clusters, asparagus-leaved. And yet others were so common-looking or plain-seeming that we have very likely typically overlooked them – dandelion-like, dandelion-like #2, and dandelion-like #3. Yet there they were, every one of them in all their created glory.

Glory.

That’s what it was. Inestimable beauty, magnificent, even regal, exceeding the splendor of Solomon.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you? (Matthew 6:28-30)

Oh, the depth of the riches… of God! How… unfathomable are His ways!  (Romans 11:33)

~~ RGM, from an early June entry several

years ago while we lived in Colorado

From My Nature Journal: Consider the Lilies

(This is a piece from my old nature journal. It goes nearly ten years back to a June afternoon when the Ridgeline Trail near our Castle Rock home was brand new, an area we had begun exploring well before the trails had been cut.)

~~~

Ridgeline Trail

We never anticipated so many.

Gail and I hit Ridgeline Trail today outfitted with gear we had not hiked with there before: a spiral notepad and pen. In the days prior we had noticed an incredible profusion of spring wildflowers in bloom, observing ones newly-opened almost daily. Finally, yesterday, we mused that we should bring paper and pen sometime soon and record how many we see. “There must be twenty-five or thirty,” one of us said. So today we gave ourselves extra time for our regular three-mile loop, and started recording from the moment we left the trailhead. Astonishingly, we had not even gotten off the feeder path before we had already surpassed our imagined number.

Prairie Smoke, one of our favorites

It was quite stunning, a magnificent diversity. In that small distance we counted eighty-four different blooming wildflowers! Eighty-four! And this was a conservative count, especially because we had not the patience this time around to differentiate all the varieties of vetches (at least four) and the plethora of penstemons (at least six); no doubt there were more of these ubiquitous species. Additionally, this count included only those plants near the trail, and only those in bloom – it omitted those more than several yards off the path, as well as tiny groundcovers we may not have seen and those in leaf or bud but not bloom. All told, there would have been far more.

Thirty of the eighty-four blooming species were

shades of yellow, with nineteen purple and

eighteen white; those remaining were various

hues of pink, orange, blue and coral…

Hummingbird moth sipping Thistle

Gail is the wildflower expert between us. (I’m more the tree, rock and sky guy.) She has an uncanny knack for name recall of plants she even rarely sees. “Don’t you remember when we saw this one once several years ago at blobbity-wherezit?” So she ends up having to school me each year even in some common ones I always seem to need to relearn. Even still, many of the names escaped us both (an effort for another day), so those we could not ID we recorded by color, character and leaf shape, so as not to duplicate. Some were so odd as to almost defy description – fern-like, butterfly-shaped, spidery, fringed-clusters,

Paintbrush, Penstemon and Pikes Peak

asparagus-leaved. And yet others were so common-looking or plain-seeming that we have very likely overlooked them typically – dandelion-like, dandelion-like B, and dandelion-like C. Thirty of the eighty-four blooming species were shades of yellow, interestingly, with nineteen purple and eighteen white; those remaining were various tints of pink, orange, blue and coral. Many species there were that have also been cultivated: wild roses, geraniums, orchids, yarrows, asters, alyssums, clovers, forget-me-nots, daisies, alfalfas, lupines, sunflowers, spiderwort, potentillas, yuccas, sweet peas, larkspurs, wallflowers, paintbrushes, flaxes and phloxes. There were even wild onions, plums, currants and cherries. But those undomesticated, at least to our knowledge, were also well-represented: arnicas, mallows, other worts, harebells, fairy trumpets, dogbanes, thistles, prairie smoke, holly, knapweeds, prickly poppy, banner flower, cacti, and who-knows-what-else. Yet there they all were, every one of them in their created glory.

Mariposa Lily, another favorite

Hmmm… Glory... That’s what it was, inestimable beauty, even regal, exceeding the splendor of a king.

Jesus said, “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, you of so little faith?” (Matthew 6:28-30)

Oh, the depth of the riches… of God! How… unfathomable are His ways!  (Romans 11:33)

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever. (Isaiah 40:7)

~~ RGM, from an early journal entry,

Adapted for my blog May 22, 2016

POTM...*: Mexican Poppies

(*Photo[s] of the Month)

OK, here’s something I’ve never had the delight of seeing before, that I’ve been eager to share with you since taking the photos last week. On our most recent visit to the church we’re serving part-time in New Mexico, we spent an amazing afternoon with a new member of the church and her husband, taking what could only in retrospect be called a ‘wildflower hike’ in the Florida Mountains near Deming. It was in a place called Spring Canyon State Park, a newer unit of nearby Rockhound State Park (where we encountered our first rattlesnake ever while hiking several months ago). We went, having asked this couple if they could simply take us out and share with us some of the things they knew about New Mexico flora (which we had already come to know was exponentially more than us!).

What a time we had! “Here, eat this!” Charles would say. And it would be delicious. “Oh, that’s Gluteus Maximus E Pluribus Unum Veni Vidi Vici,” Melanie would say. (Not really, she and he had all the Latin genera down quite well, as well as the common names, some plants of which had several.) And then we’d be off to the next thing along the trail. Gail and I had picked up a knowledge of a few of the more common things since our work in New Mexico began last spring, but the plethora of specimens here had all of our heads reeling -- none of us had expected such a profusion of wildflowers this early in the season. It was as though spring had broken forth all around us in a moment, an early Easter in the long Lenten season.

It is always a singular delight

to be out in nature with others

who enjoy it as much as you do…

Upon our exit from the park, Charles noticed a skirt of a mountain off to the west that was tinged in yellow orange, so he grabbed a quick left on a gravel road, went a ways and then began to search for an off-road two-track that might get us over that way. “That looks promising,” he deadpanned. Having found an overgrown range lane, we sliced over some low brush for a couple hundred yards and soon found ourselves surrounded by Mexican Poppies. “Charles,” I said, “as long as we’re here, I can’t not get out and take some photos.”

The sun teased us mercilessly over the next half hour, brightening the carpet momentarily and then disappearing behind steely clouds, but we were still able to enjoy it, walking among them nearly loathe to step 
                                          on any, which we found quite impossible.

Poppies with Silver Cholla Cactus

It is always a singular delight to be out in nature with others who enjoy it as much as we do, who think it not strange to pause at a plant and bend over, unmoving for thirty seconds, trying to figure out what something is, or just enjoying it in situ. Jesus contemplated nature, too, and used it to teach important lessons. In fact, he had it more than right when he said, “I tell you, don’t worry about your life… See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor, yet I tell you that not even King Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field… will he not much more take care of you, you of little faith?”

How grateful we were to these new friends for such a wonderful excursion. How grateful we are to God for the splendors of his creativity, and the simple but necessary lessons of which we are constantly reminded.

~~RGM, March 27, 2015

POTM...*: A Bloom for the Season

(*Photo of the Month)

It’s called a Pasqueflower, a lovely of the high plains, mountain states and north.

Among the very first wildflowers of spring here in the foothills of Colorado, pasqueflowers sometimes even push up through light snowcover. And though I haven’t seen one yet this year, I took this photo in very early spring some time back. As a cold weather flower, they tend to stay close to the ground, about six inches tall, and often can be found as in this photo in drier, rocky areas that hold the warmth of the late winter sun.

Sometimes confused with tulips, it’s also called the Prairie Crocus, May Day Flower, and appropriately, Easter Flower: those of you who perceive the etymology of words might have guessed the latter. Pasque comes from paschal: ‘of, or relating to, Easter or Passover.’ Picking up on the symbolism within the Jewish celebration of Passover, where a lamb’s blood protected the Hebrew people from the ravages of death (see Exodus 12), Jesus, in 1 Corinthians 5:7, is referred to as our Passover, or paschal, lamb. Though there are other flowers also associated with the blood of Christ (the Rose and Bleeding Heart among them), the Pasqueflower is associated with Easter by the timing of the season.

And so, with those redeemed of Christ throughout nearly one and a half millennia, we pray:

     O Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

     O Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

     O Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, grant us Your peace.

 O Lamb of God, Who takes

away the sins of the world,

grant us Your peace.

Interestingly, though the plant is full of toxins, its derivatives can be used medicinally for birthing/labor issues and certain vision impairments. These uses offer all kinds of possibilities for further spiritual symbolisms, connecting Easter life to our circumstances, if we wanted to go that route.

Finally, kudos to the State of South Dakota and the Canadian Province of Manitoba, both of which had the creative presence of mind to name the Pasqueflower their state/provincial bloom, though known there by different names.

~~RGM, March 14, 2013