Last Sunday, ona family walk to mark our mother’s birthdaysix years after her death, I spotted this small cluster of skunk cabbage along one of her favourite paths. These curious indigenous plants become increasingly difficult to find as urban development encroaches on precious wetlands, so I’m thrilled each spring to spot their flamboyant yellow — this elegant, if smelly, sculpture emerging from the muck. More information about this wonderful plant here, including some ethno-botanical details (i.e. how the plant was used by the indigenous people with whom it shared its ecosystem).
If you’ve been visiting my blog for a while, you might have heard me chat about skunk cabbage before, and perhaps you’ve already seen the photo of my mother hopping into some muck for a photo-op with some skunk cabbage, And then two years ago, I caught themearly March, just beginning their season. And last year, I found them on a colourful mural a few blocks from home.
I’m posting the skunk cabbage photo again today because it’s March 31st, a sunny Sunday, just like the day Mom died And I know you’ll excuse the repetition, and I know that many of you will understand the long, long resonance of a parent’s death, which I would never have suspected, at 30 or 40, even at 50, could be such a continued factor so far into one’s 60s. But such is the case, and given that I still miss my dad 19 years after his death, I’m guessing I may well be missing the two of them into my 80s. Huh.
And on that note, I have some bread to pop in the oven and a new month to prepare for. . . Will I see you here tomorrow for April Fool’s Day? No trickery involved, I promise. . .
A very appropriate post for those of us in the uk, as it is mother’s day here. We are always caught out by the little things when it come to remembering our parents. For me certain music, certain foods and definitely smells. Always red carnations that my dad bought my mum every anniversary. A flower that you rarely see in florists today. Love the yellow of the skunk cabbage, certainly not a plant we see here. Have a good week ahead. B x
Yes, the little things can trigger a cascade of memories, can't they? And dates, sometimes. . .
Hope you were well fêted yesterday.
I was , Sunday lunch cooked by all three sons. They each made a course. I’ve trained them well! 😀
Thanks for your reflection on the significance of this loss. My mother died in 2015 after many years in the neverland of dementia, and even though she hadn't recognized me in many years, her death cut me to the quick. My father's been gone for 19 months, and I find myself still thinking of things I'd like to tell him. As Coastal Ripples says above, we're always "caught out by the little things."
It's surprising how "shocking" death can be, despite a long lead-up. I don't know that we're ever prepared and yet it's such a predictable event. And of course the loss of the second parent refreshes the earlier grief. . .
Still missing my step-father after ten years. Guess it never goes away. I've never seen skunk cabbage before! I remember reading about it in Anne of Green Gables. Ha.
I don't think it does, although at 19 years, I miss my dad gently, fondly, rather than with an ache or sharpness.
The skunk cabbage Anne of Green Gables encountered would have been the variety (Symplocarpus foetidis) that generates its own heat to melt its way through the snow cover. Neat, eh?! Ours (Lysichiton Americanus) doesn't do that, sadly . . . 😉
My dad passed away at the end of March in 2001 and I am still missing him. I was just thinking of him today while I was cleaning a small art vase that he had given me. It made me melancholy to think that I had not appreciated him enough when he was still alive. March Memory resonates with me, too.
And, as for skunk cabbage, now I know that what I've seen growing in the shallows of Burke Lake is indeed just that.
slf
I know that melancholy, although it's aimed at my mother. . .
Are you in the East? If so, see my response to Sue/High Heels above to know something fascinating about your variety of skunk cabbage.
Yes, I'm in Virginia, and that is very interesting about the skunk cabbage generating its own heat and melting its way through the snow!
slf
We will alway be our parents children. Yes, miss them both a great deal. They would have loved to have lived on the west coast. When we are young we take our parents for granted. After they are gone you realize how mortal they really were….just doing the best that they could for their family.
Ali
Did they get a chance to see your place, your wonderful garden?
And yes, if we're lucky, age brings perspective, although I know there are parents whose best was not good enough, and I always want to leave room for those adult children who survived that reality.
Hugs <3
It is lovely how you can remember and associate your Mom with a flower and a walk
Beautiful yellow plant-I like it very much
Dottoressa
She really loved the outdoors and walking. . . she was a magnificent gardener as well, and there are many cultivated plants I associate with her, but this skunk cabbage brings me such a good memory.
My mom died three years ago at age 90, and right up to that moment, she still missed her own mother, who died at age 96. So I think you never stop missing your parents.
It is lovely that you take walks in her memory.
BTW, I love the quotes that you have in your sidebar.
Wow! You are so lucky to have had a mother for so long and to have that kind of longevity in the family.
Now I have to go look at what quotes are in the sidebar — they've been there forever (used to also have a slew of quotations from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but removed those to a separate post long ago 😉
I've heard of skunk cabbage but never seen it. Looked it up and found that in the EU (which we're still just part of by the skin of our teeth) it's classed as a non-native invasive weed and banned from sale!
Oh yes, the missing continues. My mum died at the age of 63, twenty seven years ago. That is so long ago that sometimes I don't have a very clear sense of missing her, and that hits me hard. My dad was my parent for virtually all the lifetime of my children, and I miss him dreadfully following his death 3 years ago. But then with time it does get easier to convert the missing into being thankful for them.
You can see why some gardeners would have wanted to bring it in, as such an exotic plant, but this so often causes such problems — as with the "Scotch broom" which is such a horror to ecosystems here (introduced by settlers in the 19th century).
Your family walk is a lovely way to remember your mother. My mother died 20 years ago; my father 35 years ago. And Coastal Ripples is right. It is the small remembrances that catch you–a piece of music, a work of art, flowers they planted, or being in places they loved to visit. A feeling of loss washes over you, but then you must smile and remember them with gratefulness and love.
That's a long time that you've been an orphan, then, and lovely to know that you still enjoy memories than bring you gratitude and love.
Both my parents died in this season (March/April),my nother 30 years ago, my father 11 years ago. In both cases, my immediate grief was mixed with other feelings, even something like anger (and guilt, of course). In a way I was having the fights I did not have with either parent while they were still alive. Now, after so many years, I can see them in a different light. I cannot say I miss them every day, but whenever I think of them, it is with affection and gratitude.