Lessons Learned from the Lovely Lady Slipper
Slow down and look down and if you’re lucky, you might see some amazing things.
The temperature is pretty perfect. The leaves have unfolded. And the bugs have not quite emerged to plague us humans.
I often take a walk in a nearby forest. I am fortunate to live near 200+ acres of conservation land. Walking trails crisscross the hills.
In mid-May, the delicate pink blossom of the lady slipper blooms.
The flower truly resembles a tiny, soft shoe. Imagine a creature about the size of a loaf of bread. If that creature walked on two feet, those little feet might slip easily into this pink flower.
The blossom stands atop a single green stem about half the size of a standard drinking straw. Two simple leaves cup the stem. The lady slipper often goes unnoticed. It is unassuming.
The flower appears independent. And while there are sometimes small patches of two or three together, more often the slipper stands alone.
Unless you’re looking for them, you might not notice the pink petals spread across the forest floor.
One year, my sister and I counted 1,000 of these flowers. Truthfully, I don’t know how we kept track, but I know we did.
It was Memorial Day. We had just marched in our town’s celebratory parade.
And then we headed to the woods to walk some more.
Lady slippers are a wild orchid. They are endangered and therefore protected.
Curiously, they pop up in the same place year after year.
They grace the forest floor for a couple of weeks, and then they slowly wither, turn brown, and fall to the floor.
Like many flowering buds, the greenery persists, but who cares? Surely there are other more interesting arrangements of leaves. The shiny leaves of three, for example. (Don’t touch those. That’s poison ivy for any city dwellers.)
The lesson learned from this flower? Walk slowly. Look down and around. Get to know the cycle and the season, the plain leaves that will hopefully frame the tender stalk.
Maybe take a photo. Or write a poem or an essay.
And leave the flower untouched, where it has its roots.
Appreciate the delicacy for its short-lived lifespan.
