Wild violets
As the snow melts, there are certain things we anticipate every year. The ice slowly drops from the lake, barren tree branches begin to bud, the daffodils and tulips pop, and bright greens replace the dark remains of winter.
Among my favorites are the wild violets that blanket the ground in late spring at Otter Lake, painting a brief but beautiful canvas.
They appear seemingly out of nowhere beneath our feet and fill the air with a subtle sweetness, not overpowering but just the perfect scent. The majority are lavender and purples but some whites and yellows are there, too. They only last for a few weeks before they disappear again, like the prelude to the symphony of summer color to follow.
My grandma was a poet and wrote about the violets. I love reading her words and seeing them through her eyes.
WHITE VIOLETS
by Flora Kangas Manninen
Little white violets, sweetest of them all, shy and retiring, you lift your tiny faces and smile at me from the most unsuspected, hidden places.
Not like your cousins, big and blue, that fill the meadows, blooming everywhere. I think I know why God has hidden you so. It’s because you are too precious to be trod upon by the heedless feet of those who do not care.
He knows that we who love you so will always find you anywhere. In the hushed silence of the shady woods, your ineffable fragrance fills the air. We find you, and it seems as though God walks with us when we are there.
The rare white violets in a sea of purple and green.