Return to The Park

A friend of mine had some time yesterday morning and accepted my offer to revisit the park. She's only been to the version on the WI side of the river, despite living in MN. In addition she'd never seen either trilliums or Jacks in the pulpit. We headed out early, anticipating unseasonal heat later in the day. This time, not being a semi-holiday weekend but early on a weekday, the sole handicap parking spot was available. While I no longer qualify, she does, so the tunnel path was right next to the car. This time she was ahead of me, shooting things which caught her unique eye, like a mossy rock standing up in a tiny stream bed, its moss coat in two distinct colors, oddly green in the middle with a vertical circle of orange surrounding it.  I shot it myself, but the photo which resulted didn't say anything to me. OK, odd, but not my idea of special. Movin' on.

I had stopped a bit earlier to video the stream just before it had funneled into the tunnel under the highway, its gentle current leaving reflective ripples. Not only did I have to fight with highway noise overhead, but my friend was excitedly pointing out a variety of things which caught her eye. I'm guessing she hasn't tried to replay video with a specific soundtrack before, and I didn't think it would be all that useful to ask for silence. Besides she was having a good time for her first visit, and I'd been there before. With my permit sticker, I could return any time.

She found, while waiting for me, what I'd missed the day before, however. Embedded in the nook of a twisty old debarked and thoroughly insect-drilled stump on the highway bank was a clump of mushrooms. The whole clump would have fit in a hand, but we weren't going to disturb it.

 She was gung-ho to continue straight on the path to see what's next. I wasn't. First, what's next was all vertical. This was the gorge the river had carved over millennia, after all. I knew we were both fairly low on energy for ambitious hikes, even with frequent stops to take photos, and the path was a bit too full of raised tree roots. The distractions of looking way ahead at the next thing left both of us open to tripping, possibly needing to leave before even seeing what I'd brought her to see. She'd already passed the turnoff we needed to take, where three feet in were the jack in the pulpits. I called her back.

There they were, same as they' been. But this time, after gently showing her the unique shape of the plant, I got her to hold the big leaf out of the way so I could get a shot of what was mostly a hidden blur before when both my hands were managing the camera. The "Jack" was perfectly visible in one of the same pair from the day before, and now they had parted slightly to give me the perfect angle.

After we finished I asked her did she want me to do the same for her to get a shot. A bit puzzled, she asked me, "But where is the flower?" I explained she'd just been holding the big leaf to the side so we could both see the flower. That was the big show. She was enlightened, just not impressed. A whole hillside of trilliums awaited her and off she went, happily spending about ten minutes, until her body said enough already.

On her way she found still another Jack in the pulpit, and as I was seeing if I could get an angle on that, (nope) I heard her mention pink trilliums. Pink?

My first thought was she'd fond a different pink flower, much pinker than what she really had found, as it turned out, as well as smaller and different number pf petals. I'd passed some minutes earlier and taken a shot. But this wasn't what had caught her eye.

The day before everything blooming in that large patch was white. Not a hint of pink anywhere. I caught up to her, and started to find them.

There they were, one here, one there, sparsely sprinkled among the white. Standing in place, I could see hundreds of white ones, and about a dozen pink. I could tell research was needed, but later discovered Google is kind of iffy with information. These might be how they start, blending in to the white around them as they age. But does "as they age" mean between morning and afternoon? Or it might be a mixed patch. But why no pink ones the previous afternoon's visit? I'll have to ask the horticulturist in the booth where you pay for permits, as she'd already directed me to the tunnel and which way to turn on the other side a few days before to find the trilliums. She wasn't in yet, and we needed to leave.

On our way out, I stopped at the far end of the tunnel for a shot of the water. It was a different sky from the day before, a different sun angle,  and a whole different photo. So why not?