The Mountain Laurel Is In Bloom!

The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder, than they . . .

One of the best things about camping out is waking up in the woods in the morning, and that's just what we did. The whip-poor-will that serenaded us to sweet dreams the night before kept up its chorus all night long. By about 3 am, its call seemed even more frantic, if anything, and I was ready for someone to hand me a remote control to turn off the sound effects.

At some point during the night, I heard the sound of a deer approaching our campsite. We had seen a very large white-tail cross the road in front of our car the night before. I didn't fancy the thought of a huge deer charging through our campsite, not knowing we were there, potentially running into my tent (which is very airy - mostly screen, in fact - and probably therefore not very visible), and ruining my new tent on what was only its second or third actual field usage. So I sat up and gently cleared my throat, and the deer wisely chose a different route.

The mostly full moon was still out when we woke up, but it was very pale. My first waking view of the day was of green ferns and trees and a sunny meadow full of pink and white mountain laurel. Mountain laurel, Kalmia latifolia, is the state flower of Pennsylvania, and while it has long been rumored that it enjoys protected status, that is actually not the case. You may cultivate mountain laurel yourself, and in fact, I have done so, planting two young sprigs of it (purchased online) along a bank in our backyard at home in hopes that it will flourish there.

The flowers of the mountain laurel are very delicate, with a white or even pale pink background, on which tiny pink designs are etched. When the buds first form, they look very, very pink, much darker than this. As they open, you see more of the white. The bushes grow profusely in the mountains of Pennsylvania, and when it is in full bloom (usually anytime from late May through late June), the woods are a symphony of pale pink. The mountaintops are just covered in them, and it's a sight to behold.

I grew up in the Pennsylvania woods and wilds. When I was getting ready to go to the senior prom in high school, my mother and I made the prom gown that I wore. It was white, lacy, with patterns of tiny pink rosebuds that reminded me of the centers of a mountain laurel bloom. When I wore that dress, I fancied myself to be a delicate flower, a wild girl from the central Pennsylvania mountains. In looking back at the photos from the vantage point of quite a few years, I see a round-faced young girl, smiling sweetly but just a bit uncertainly on the arm of one of her first young beaus. She is wearing a dress of flowers; in her heart, she is a princess of the Pennsylvania wilds.

Oddly enough, I'm using songs with identical titles two days in a row, but I swear this one is different than the Tom Petty song I posted for yesterday. Here is Dolly Parton, with Wildflowers, a portion of whose lyrics appear in italics above.