May Flowers

 The woods are fragrant and bright with spring blossoms.  The dogwood is everywhere, and practically odorless, but something out there smells sweet.  There are more kinds of wildflowers than I could begin to know.  Some are considered invasive, like the non-native intruder known as "Japanese honeysuckle"--which is one of the most fragrant wildflowers.  

 I don't know the story behind this maple labeled "The Wedding Tree."  It sits alongside the road in the now-abandoned Main Picnic Area at Raccoon Creek.  I got turned around while bushwhacking today and ended up revisiting this forlorn section of the park.  It was actually kind of nice in early May.  

 When I was young--in the 1970s--our grandparents didn't allow us to climb dogwood trees.  They believed that the original cross of Christ was made of dogwood, and so climbing them was sacrilegious.  That's too bad because dogwoods are the perfect climbing tree for a kid.  They're small, and crooked, and manageable; they make much better climbing trees than crucifixion trees.   There probably aren't even dogwoods in Palestine, and I've never seen one tall and straight enough to make a decent cross.  And yet, they sometimes bloom during Eastertide, and the flowers are sort of cruciform...hence the legend here in Northern Appalachia.  

They claim that Raccoon Creek is botanically unique.  It's the easternmost limit for some Midwestern plants, and it's the westernmost limit for some Eastern plants.  It's not a perfect crossroads: truly Northern species--like the white birch--don't often extend this far south.  (You do occasionally see a nice white birch around here, but only few in the wild.)  I think the southernmost limit of many distinctly Northern plants is somewhere north of here.  Even sugar maples are much more abundant in the forests north of I-80, even though they're not exactly rare down here.  All the same, the park does offer a nice mix of Northern and Southern species, too.   

I followed an old, unmarked forest road away from the lake beach and up a steep grade on the edge of a deep ravine.  It's just a grassy little lane that passes through some lovely forest and crosses the main park road.  It eventually peters out in a far-flung meadow, and I got a little confused as I bushwhacked out of the area.  I ended up heading back toward the beach, but I thought I was headed away from it.  

It was kind of a trip...walking past things I should have known and not recognizing them, only to realize later where I'd been.  I like getting lost in a place I think I know well.  It reminds me that there's still so much to discover in the world; things and people we've known for years can still be seen with fresh eyes and rediscovered with wonder.  

 There were lots of fishers on the lake.  Although I keep to myself, I did enjoy seeing some other people in the park for a change.  In all, it feels like the place is gearing up for the summer.  The bait store is open, as is the boat rental shop.  There are maintenance workers and park rangers buzzing about, looking busy.  I even saw two older couples having romantic midday picnics, which warmed my heart.  The Parson's only picnic companion is James Salter's new novel, All That Is.  Unfortunately, it's almost certain to be the author's last, since he's in his mid-80s, and it's not as good as Light Years, but it's still Salter.