Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Lilies of the field

Canada Lily (L. canadense)
 
 And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:
 
 And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.   

Matthew 6:28-29
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I have written here before that I have been watching and waiting for a small stand of Canada lilies to bloom in the meadow at Gray's Crossing near Ballston Spa, NY.
 
But today when I arrived at the meadow, the usually sleepy  Kayaderosseras Creek was roiling like the Mississippi. We've had just tons of rain in the northeast this past month.
 
A path to a small bridge was swamped and was my first clue that I might not be able to get to the lilies today.

 
 
Another few steps and I could see that the creek was way over its banks.
 

Undaunted, I tried another trail, further from the creek. Well, it was a little wet, but I could manage...


 ... until the trail became a running creek itself.



 




There was yet one more trail to try.

This trail was full of tiny green frogs and when I found myself up to my knees in flowing water, I decided I wasn't being very smart. I gave up and turned around, disappointed that I wouldn't get to see the lilies in bloom today.
 


Unlike me, this bright stand of purple loosestrife, below, was perfectly happy to have wet feet. Such a gorgeous plant but so unloved for its invasive habits.

 
But wait, what's that over there? Not the stand of elusive lilies I had been hoping to get to, but yes, a lone Canada lily just off to the side of soggy trail number three. Mother Nature had thrown me a crumb, planting this one lily where I could see it today.
 
Unlike the common orange ditch daylilies, this flower hangs down like a delicate bell. The wildflower guide books say that Canada lilies are most often found with yellow or red blooms, yet this one was a lovely peach color.
 
A beautifully arrayed lily of the field, indeed.
  





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Foolish Rabbit Children


We have a family of four adolescent rabbits in our neighborhood. In the afternoons, they cavort heedlessly across streets and front lawns, chasing each other at top rabbit speeds.


In the mornings, they forage across our lawn and weedy perennial border. Of course, they nibble the flowers and leave the weeds untouched.

I can get within six feet of them before they shrug their shoulders and reluctantly move off a few steps. They are like junior high school boys with droopy jeans who pretend to move on when a teacher tells them it's time for class.

The rabbit children are foolish to stay here. Our resident rat terrier mutt is itchin' and twitchin' at the window, as every ounce of her being is telling her to, in the words of Elmer Fudd, kill tha wabbit.

We don't dare let her out into the front yard. It wouldn't be pretty.

 Nor as musical as this: What's Opera Doc?







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