Column for August 1, 2004

Voices of Maine — Jeanette Baldridge

I suppose flowers aren’t crucial to our survival, but they are necessary for our souls.
Bursts of wildflowers celebrate Maine summer days

Although the white pine cone and tassel is Maine’s state “flower,” probably the most loved flower in Maine is the lady-slipper.

The lady-slipper is an orchid that hides in the forest nestled in the shadow of pine and fir, maple and oak. Unobtrusively elegant, the lady-slipper is protected in Maine. Along with its ethereal beauty, this shy flower has medicinal qualities and the roots can be used as a mild sedative for stress and nervous problems.

According to an Ojibwa tale, the lady-slipper or ma-ki-sin waa-big-waan (moccasin flower) came into being because of the courage of a young girl in saving the lives of her family members and the people of her village. As the only one left when people became ill with a devastating disease, she traveled through the forest in the dead of winter to get herbs needed to heal the sick. In a blinding snowstorm she made it to the village after nightfall; but rather than stay the night, she set out immediately to return home. She lost her moccasins, but trudged on with frozen and bloody feet until the herbs were delivered. Returning in the spring to look for her moccasins, she found a beautiful flower had grown where she lost her moccasins and in every bloody footprint.

Without doubt, the lady-slipper is a rare and awesome delight when encountered in the deep woods. But in spite of all my years in Maine, I’ve only seen three or four. They are more legend than real to me. Although I love lady-slippers, the flowers that speak to me of Maine are barnyard lilies. As far as I know, they don’t have a story or medicinal qualities.

Blooms in the barnyard

They just bloom, their orange blossoms adorning the roadside and virtually every yard during most of July. It’s obvious why these day lilies are called “barnyard” lilies, because the barnyard is as likely a place to find them as the garden. They seem to be at home in both.

When we moved here in 1975, a huge clump of the orange blossoms dominated Aunt Fern’s front lawn. Hundreds more grew around the border of the lawn. The lilies seemed stout enough to hold their own against the encroaching oak brush and the pine saplings of the forest trying to push into the yard.

I was mesmerized by their beauty and wanted some for my yard. Without a minute’s hesitation, Aunt Fern dug up a pumpkin-sized clump and, just like that, I had begun my first Maine flower garden. Every year after that I had to thin them out, of course; and unable to just let them just die, I planted the excess in other spots. By the time we moved, lilies bloomed around the base of the house, the barn, all the fences and in the garden, of course.

We moved from that house in the middle of the winter, so I left with none of my flowers. Not even one lily. I went for two years without a flower up here on the hill. And those delightful lilies that grow in profusion across the state aren’t for sale in stores. At least, I didn’t find any. Not even one. Lilies, yes, but not that special long-stemmed one. So Donnie went back to our old house, and the new owners were more than happy to give him some.

Stop to marvel

Finally, the lilies are beginning to spread, and I hope to have the hillside covered with them before long.

Last Saturday, we drove to Unity for a meeting and for every mile of the two-hour drive, the roadside was ablaze with flowers. Barnyard lilies, of course, but also black-eyed Susans, daisies, purple vetch, clover, Queen Anne’s lace, goldenrod. And milkweed. I love those purple flowers and that spicy smell. The amazing thing about this is, all the flowers I’ve named are wild. The day lilies are not. Someone at one time or another had to have planted them. Once planted, they can hang in there on their own; but except for spreading out where they are, they don’t propagate themselves.

I suppose flowers aren’t crucial to our survival but they are necessary for our souls. Most people have very deep personal needs they’re not willing to discuss or even acknowledge. I think appreciating something beautiful is one of those needs. I know there are people who have never paid one mite of attention to any flower, wild or not. But I wonder how their lives might have been different if they had stopped on occasion to marvel at the beauty of a simple lily.

Or a lady-slipper.

Lady-slippers can’t just be planted in our yards. We have to find them where they live, usually just beyond where the rest of us live. That means we must search for them. But one would have to be comatose to miss the beauty of barnyard lilies. Theirs is a beauty happy to be shared.

Jeanette Baldridge is a writer and teacher who lives in West Paris, who is a regular contributor to this column. She can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].