It has not been a peaceful day. We have made such a mess of things.
But no one thought to tell the rose pogonias at Camp Hardtner, so they bloomed anyway.
Robert Frost (1874-1963) wrote a poem about rose pogonias.* I’m so glad it’s in the public domain. I must share the whole thing with you.
A saturated meadow, Sun-shaped and jewel-small, A circle scarcely wider Than the trees around were tall; Where winds were quite excluded, And the air was stifling sweet With the breath of many flowers,— A temple of the heat. These were bowed us in the burning, As the sun’s right worship is, To pick where none could miss them A thousand orchises; For though the grass was scattered, Yet every second spear Seemed tipped with wings of color, That tinged the atmosphere. We raised a simple prayer Before we left the spot, That in the general mowing That place might be forgot; Or if not all is favoured, Obtain such grace of hours, That none should mow the grass there While so confused with flowers.
Thank you, rose pogonias. Thank you, Robert Frost. I think I can sleep now.
*Special thanks to Camp Hardtner director Daniel Chapman, who reminded me of Frost’s poem.