The Carolinian Trail

Tuesday, April 23, 2002

white violet The riverbank is full of new delights. This is a season of utmost joy to passionate botanists. Those green things that most intrigue us are literally bursting out of nothing.

Several great nature writers have said it is better to get to know one small corner of the world well than to travel, getting to know many places superficially. Our understanding of the Land can only approach fullness as we devote ourselves to it locally and rigorously, season by season, year by year.

The first emergence of spring plants is one of the most crucial events in this life lesson. Nature often changes swiftly and radically, as any storm will prove, but never does life itself reveal such drama and mutability. Now offers so much for the rover's mind to grasp and absorb. I realize I've forgotten some things I observed about the river during the past two springs. Now the earth reminds me. It's like a schoolteacher's drill. Now this lessson, once again!

And there are many subtleties I've missed until now. Today I spotted a small clump of "leafy" moss, a Mnium or one of its relatives. This is the first time I've noticed it anywhere outside cottage country. I'm curious to know whether higher plants evolved from this group, since other mosses don't have recognizable leaves, and these ones ressemble the habit of a creeping herb.

There's a heirarchy of pleasure to be derived from observing a living species in a given habitat for the first time. The moss is no doubt indigenous but uncommon, which makes it specially remarkable to me, though the typical pedestrian would never give the diminutive plant a passing glance.

It's hard to say whether this same category also includes the small white violet I noted. I plucked one growing head out of many and brought it back to scan. The resulting picture, above, is roughly life size. The creamy white flowers have yellow centres. I thought this too must be an indigenous plant until just now; smelling them I detected an intense violet fragrance. Could it be Viola odorata? The qualities of this plant delight me, and yet I must pause and consider that it might be exotic, a park invader, perhaps a survivor from some long-ago garden.

Daylily spikes and luscious heads of yellow celandine boil vehemently out of the dark, riverine soil. These plants, too, are sweet to the eye, but not to the mind of an ecological purist. I was happy to find catnip shoots, and gathered some as a favour for Potvin. But it's yet another European weed.

Of all the new treasures I found today, the most humble is also the most precious.

Turning inward and walking through the woods of my identity, I find many plants. Some are native, others are interlopers: habits I have learned from some particular relationship or passage of my life. I guess some of these are beneficial overall, but many of them are not. Detecting which is which, isn't always easy.