Yesterday we had a spot of June in the middle of April, with daytime temperatures in the 80s. Although I was on campus teaching all day, I took advantage of between-class breaks to sit outside on the quad where everyone was out in shorts, sundresses, and sandals, just like summertime. When I got home from teaching, the first thing I did was change out of my long sleeved shirt and khakis into a polo and capri pants, appropriate attire for walking the dog along the Ashuelot River, where I figured he’d appreciate a cooling swim while I hunted for wildflowers.

When I assign John Muir’s Thousand Mile Walk to the Gulf in my American Literature of the Open Road class, I warn students that Muir is crazy about flowers. Hearing someone wax ecstatic over every new posy quickly gets annoying if you aren’t botantically inclined. So I know that springtime is when I’m apt to tax the patience of even my most tolerant blog-readers: “Really, Lorianne, you aren’t going to spend more time here talking about more wildflowers, are you?”

Well, uh, yes…I was going to talk about a couple more wildflowers…the first being one I expected to see, and the second being one I didn’t. The photo at the top of this post shows Trout Lily, also known as Fawn Lily or Dogtooth Violet (Erythronium americanum). I hoped to see it blooming on the bank of the Ashuelot River since I’d seen it there this time last year. The photo on the left shows some variety of Bellwort (Uvularia): in Ohio, Large-flowered Bellwort (U. grandiflora) is the common species, but this New Hampshire specimen looks more like the sessile-leaved variety (U. sessilifolia). If it is Sessile-Leaved Bellwort (and the next time I see it, I’ll have to get down on my hands and knees to check), that would be a happy accident since U. sessilifolia is also called Wild Oats. Wild Oats! Who knew that when I changed into a polo and capris yesterday, I was preparing to sow (or at least admire the sowing of) some Wild Oats!

Regardless of this particular wildflower’s name, yesterday’s spot of June has vanished. This morning, it’s 45 degrees Fahrenheit as I type these words: a forty degree dip since yesterday! Living in New Hampshire in the springtime means you have to adapt to now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t seasons: one day’s high very quickly slides into the next day’s low. Once you realize that New Hampshire’s precocious summery moods are ephemeral, you learn to seize these moments when they come: in retrospect, I’m thanking my lucky flowers that I took the time yesterday to cool my heels amongst Wild Oats.