The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it,
“Creator! shall I bloom?”
PLATE CI
FRINGED GENTIAN.—G. crinita.
VI
MISCELLANEOUS
Skunk Cabbage. Swamp Cabbage.
Symplocarpus fœtidus. Arum Family.
Leaves.—Large, becoming one or two feet long; heart-shaped, appearing later than the purple-mottled spathe and hidden flowers. Flowers.—Small and inconspicuous; packed on the fleshy spike which is hidden within the spathe.
If we are bold enough to venture into certain swampy places in the leafless woods and brown cheerless meadows of March, we notice that the sharply pointed spathes of the skunk cabbage have already pierced the surface of the earth. Until I chanced upon a passage in Thoreau’s Journal under date of October 31st, I had supposed that these “hermits of the bog” were only encouraged to make their appearance by the advent of those first balmy, spring-suggestive days which occasionally occur as early as February. But it seems that many of these young buds had pushed their way upward before the winter set in, for Thoreau counsels those who are afflicted with the melancholy of autumn to go to the swamps, “and see the brave spears of skunk-cabbage buds already advanced toward a new year.” “Mortal and human creatures must take a little respite in this fall of the year,” he writes. “Their spirits do flag a little. There is a little questioning of destiny, and thinking to go like cowards to where the weary shall be at rest. But not so with the skunk-cabbage. Its withered leaves fall and are transfixed by a rising bud. Winter and death are ignored. The circle of life is complete. Are these false prophets? Is it a lie or a vain boast underneath the skunk-cabbage bud pushing it upward and lifting the dead leaves with it?”
