Chaucer meets Japanese poetry. You, on your initially bootless quest, make the connection and leave its imprint. The pink flowers offered up a Wordsworth moment, all the lovelier because you were seeking something else.
What a wondrous adventure, Jeffrey. The Devon memories, the historic, literary, and cultural significance of this unicorn of a flower. The disappointment of the sad little site. That’s what you get when you try to fence in a unicorn! Finding the flower at last, placed there by a fellow primrose admirer. The journey that matters more than the prize.
I’m reminded of the time I saw a showy ladyslipper at the side of a road in a Minnesota state park. It is a magnificent pink orchid. The state flower, it’s highly protected, and rare. It typically grows in remote shaded areas. I ran back to the campsite, grabbed my entry-level Nikon, and started snapping photos. Soon I was surrounded by a crowd: amateurs, but with better cameras. I framed some of the pictures. They are a shadow of the real thing. After more than forty years, they still give me a thrill.
I’m not sure exactly what it is, but there was something so satisfying about knowing you found the flower you were looking for. I was also rather struck by the Japanese warrior who was moved by the sight of these flowers. Such a wonderful idea — that the beauty of nature can move us all.
Hi Jeffrey, enjoyed the journey you took us on to find these tiny flowers. It reminded me of simpler times, of a man on a humble mission, and the importance of beauty. 🪷🌸
Every year, I take pilgrimages around my family's yard to find the flowers of spring. First are the snowdrops, then the crocus, next the bloodroot blooms, then the primrose (cultivated) and the trillium (wild), then the apple blossoms - the last sign comes in early June, the yellow lady's slipper. There are other flowers that appear of course, and many more to come in summer, but these spring blooms are so fleeting that time must be taken to see them or they will be missed. As A.E. Houseman expressed in his poem, one has only a limited number of springs in which to enjoy them.
Your (and Houseman's) point about a limited number of springs is a poignant one. The other day I was enjoying the exquisite blooms of a rose garden when I saw a very old man being helped around by his family. He was clearly not well. My first thought: how sad, this might be the last time he enjoys the spring. My second: how do I know that it isn't my last spring?
Chaucer meets Japanese poetry. You, on your initially bootless quest, make the connection and leave its imprint. The pink flowers offered up a Wordsworth moment, all the lovelier because you were seeking something else.
The unlooked-for joys are the best ones, aren't they?
"At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea."
I looked this up. Thank you for the introduction. I am nowhere near as well read as you may think.
What a wondrous adventure, Jeffrey. The Devon memories, the historic, literary, and cultural significance of this unicorn of a flower. The disappointment of the sad little site. That’s what you get when you try to fence in a unicorn! Finding the flower at last, placed there by a fellow primrose admirer. The journey that matters more than the prize.
I’m reminded of the time I saw a showy ladyslipper at the side of a road in a Minnesota state park. It is a magnificent pink orchid. The state flower, it’s highly protected, and rare. It typically grows in remote shaded areas. I ran back to the campsite, grabbed my entry-level Nikon, and started snapping photos. Soon I was surrounded by a crowd: amateurs, but with better cameras. I framed some of the pictures. They are a shadow of the real thing. After more than forty years, they still give me a thrill.
Thank you for another lovely post.
What a beautiful flower to have as the state emblem! Certainly worth looking for.
Yes, the journey indeed matters more than the prize. Of course, I only realised that later!
This was such a beautiful post, thank you.
Thank you, Deborah!
Thank you for the delightful journey with history and poetry and, finally, flowers!
long days
searching for the humblest
first flowers
Thank you, Melanie, and I enjoyed your poem!
A lovely read, Jeffrey.
Thank you, Maureen!
This is the kind of quest I truly love, and your essay is the perfect prologue to a river walk.
Similar wildflowers of the same color grow around me house but unfortunately, they are not primroses.
I’m not sure exactly what it is, but there was something so satisfying about knowing you found the flower you were looking for. I was also rather struck by the Japanese warrior who was moved by the sight of these flowers. Such a wonderful idea — that the beauty of nature can move us all.
A really enjoyable read, Jeffrey :)
I'm glad you enjoeyd it, Michael. The story of Ieyasu Tokugawa admiring rgw flower caught my imagination too!
A delight as always, Jeffrey. So glad you found the Primrose!
Thank you, Holly!
I am so glad that you found the sakurasō, Jeffrey. And thanks for bringing us along for the journey.
众里寻他千百度。蓦然回首，那人却在，灯火阑珊处。
😊😊😊
Perfect! 😊 谢谢!
I don’t know what I love more: your essay’s whimsical beauty, or your desire to follow it. 🌸
I'm grateful for both thoughts, Kimberly!
How intriguing ! I’m glad your quest was successful but it’s all about the journey isn’t it?
I quite agree, even though it doesn't always feel like that at the time.
Hi Jeffrey, enjoyed the journey you took us on to find these tiny flowers. It reminded me of simpler times, of a man on a humble mission, and the importance of beauty. 🪷🌸
Simple, humble: how good those words sound! 😊
Every year, I take pilgrimages around my family's yard to find the flowers of spring. First are the snowdrops, then the crocus, next the bloodroot blooms, then the primrose (cultivated) and the trillium (wild), then the apple blossoms - the last sign comes in early June, the yellow lady's slipper. There are other flowers that appear of course, and many more to come in summer, but these spring blooms are so fleeting that time must be taken to see them or they will be missed. As A.E. Houseman expressed in his poem, one has only a limited number of springs in which to enjoy them.
Your (and Houseman's) point about a limited number of springs is a poignant one. The other day I was enjoying the exquisite blooms of a rose garden when I saw a very old man being helped around by his family. He was clearly not well. My first thought: how sad, this might be the last time he enjoys the spring. My second: how do I know that it isn't my last spring?