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The Mayapple Marvel

The Mayapple Marvel Ruth Trimble I've heard tell that a watched pot never boils. I really believe this old adage applies to my yearly quest for mayapples. Visions of those musky fruits dance in my mind's eye along with spring raindrops as tiny tips of mayapple leaves boldly push through the humus, heralding the advent of the prized morel mushrooms. As the sun warms the earth, they seem to burgeon out all at once to carpet the forest floor with their incandescent green glow. Just off the Trail of the Lonesome at Granny's Cove near the old tobacco barn, hundreds of mayapple plants congregate each year beneath tall poplars, roseate redbuds, and scaly dogwoods "Oh, ho!" I gloat. "This is the year." Sadly, some years the tender plants are decimated by a late killing frost, or a dry season seems to melt them into the ground. If the plants survive a capricious spring, I begin my vigil, keeping a watchful eye on every stage of their development. Soon large waxy-white flowers with apricot-colored centers appear on two-leaved stems. In due time the flowers drop off to allow tiny green fruits to form that, if all goes well, grow to lemon size. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

The Mayapple Marvel

Trimble, Ruth.
Appalachian Review , Volume 22 (3) – Jan 8, 1994
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Ruth Trimble I've heard tell that a watched pot never boils. I really believe this old adage applies to my yearly quest for mayapples. Visions of those musky fruits dance in my mind's eye along with spring raindrops as tiny tips of mayapple leaves boldly push through the humus, heralding the advent of the prized morel mushrooms. As the sun warms the earth, they seem to burgeon out all at once to carpet the forest floor with their incandescent green glow. Just off the Trail of the Lonesome at Granny's Cove near the old tobacco barn, hundreds of mayapple plants congregate each year beneath tall poplars, roseate redbuds, and scaly dogwoods "Oh, ho!" I gloat. "This is the year." Sadly, some years the tender plants are decimated by a late killing frost, or a dry season seems to melt them into the ground. If the plants survive a capricious spring, I begin my vigil, keeping a watchful eye on every stage of their development. Soon large waxy-white flowers with apricot-colored centers appear on two-leaved stems. In due time the flowers drop off to allow tiny green fruits to form that, if all goes well, grow to lemon size.

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 1994

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