Cabin Journal: Flowers Gone Wild

In a summer with record-breaking heat across the West, wildfires so hot that they are creating their own weather storms, and reservoirs, rivers and lakes drying up, here in the Colorado mountains a small miracle is occurring.

A late spring with snowstorms into May followed by daily rain showers in June have produced more wildflowers than I’ve ever seen here before. On my septic field, flowers are blooming that have never grown here before, and on ground that in past years would have been barren if not for the thistles. Last week I counted at least 20 species of wildflowers in the yard around the cabin, and I’m sure I missed a few of the smaller, less showy ones.

The wild roses that grow here sporadically are flourishing along the roadside and among the aspen, their pink petals littering the ground. The columbine that usually flower for a week in mid-June are still blooming in late July. The modest sulphur (buckwheat) flower, short and with tight yellow blossoms, has taken over whole hillsides (above).

For the past few weeks, the view from my front porch has been a sea of purple lupine, sulphur flowers, yellow cinquefoil, pink wild geranium, and the tall needle and thread grasses, which I’ve rarely seen.

This week, as the cinquefoil begin to fade, the yellow blanketflower (gaillardia, right), purple asters, mariposa lilies and blue harebells are making their appearance. I love the blanketflower with its smart golden petals and red centers, but the asters (bottom photo, with harebells) are one of my favorites.

A simple flower with the thin purple petals around a yellow center, they usually appear in bunches that light up their surroundings. Around them the mariposa lilies (top left) float serenely—white delicate bastions of light. The blue penstemons (left) aren’t as plentiful, but amid a field of white yarrow and green grasses, their color is startling.

On my walk around Meeker Park, I stopped at a field where I always see a few angelicas (below), but this year there are probably 50, raising their thick, juicy red stalks above the grasses that are now turning brown.

Another tall plant is the green gentian, 2-3 feet high, its flowers a subtle greenish-yellow, but the whole plant is a marvel, an intricate and yet delicate structure. I always have to wonder: how was such a perfectly proportioned thing created? And for what reason? It doesn’t need to be that beautiful and elegant to attract bees or other pollinators.

I don’t know the answers, but I know I need to get out as much as possible—brave the heat and smoky skies—and admire the wildflowers for the short amount of time they light up the landscape. I need to stand respectfully in their presence, trace their intricate patterns and let myself be awed by their wealth of colors and forms, and by their profusion.

A wildflower season like this one is rare and will likely never happen again in my lifetime, especially as our climate becomes more extreme. In a summer where the environmental news gets worse every day, I have to rejoice at this source of wonder.