Chamaenerion Angustifolium

Spring in the valley teased its way well into June.  Even July has not breathed its summer dragon in the foothills of the mountains.  (I have a narrow comfort zone so I say restrain the beast as long as possible.)

And,  as the unseasonably cool breezes prompted me to wear a sweatshirt over my worn garden togs,  my eyes were drawn to something strange growing in the Physostegia Virginoiana,  aka Obedient Plant. 

I studied the leaves carefully as I touched them with garden gloves.  (Why do I wear them?  I still get dirt beneath my finger nails!)   There was something very familiar about the narrow leaf and the stem that was stretching with impatience to reach the mid morning sun.  (The morning shade is a result of the neighbors ancient towering silver maples. They are a love hate relationship.)

With recognition, a childhood emotion swept over me.  Memories of racing through meadows surrounded by towering firs and cedars.  The faint scents of crushed herbs and tiny flowers beneath my feet.  The sounds of rabbits through the thick brush.  Oh! And the splash of some other small creature escaping through the little creek that was picking up speed as it neared its descent into the Green River Valley.   All of that from announcing to no one in particular, "This has to be fireweed!"

Back in the fifties and sixties the Puget Sound communities would find fireweed growing in the open fields and along fence lines.  As it did on our small farm.   But the most magnificent sight would come from a mountain slope that had experienced a wild fire.  That is where you would see charred timber transformed into an enchanted mass of bright pink blooms.

There is probably lots more to know about the witchery of fireweed.  I only knew that it was beautiful and that it never failed to pop up somewhere on the acres of my childhood home.  And, that it was the first to reclaim beauty after devastation.

And now, it blooms in my garden.