From Gazette editions of June, 1935:

Just as orchids are among the most costly and prized flowers of the gilded apartments of our cities, so the lady’s slippers are among the choicest flowers of the glades and deserted roadsides in woody places. The lady’s slippers are themselves orchids, worthy members of a fabled family, but since their origin is humble and since anyone may come upon them in the commons of the country, the kinship is overlooked. Lady’s slippers do not lack appreciation; everyone delights in their pale pink graceful shape. But they do lack that consideration in which they should be held. This consideration should lead to the extreme degree of protection which we can extend to valuable things. The lady’s slipper is made to be admired in its natural setting, not to be picked.

Like the jack-in-the-pulpit, the lady’s slipper is more than a flower. It is a contrivance. Its shape and arrangement excite interest, and its mystery appeals to the imagination. What a pity that this blossom should be plucked and put into bouquets, in which its life is so fleeting. Rightfully esteemed, the lady’s slipper can continue for years to come, one of the charming ornaments of secluded country places on the Island.

Among the birds which make pleasant noises in the June mornings, but not of them, is the starling. Robins, song sparrows, even the blue jay with its liquid bell call, accompany the early hours with singing which is singing. But despite their excellent example, the starling sits about and rasps, squawks, chatters and experiments with dissonances generally. Nesting under the eaves of buildings, or in holes in house walls, the starling is thoroughly disreputable in habit as well as in voice, and, without being in the least friendly, brings his unpleasant character as closely as possible into contact with the human race. The young of better birds give forth a chirping sound, but the young of starlings, in their stolen holes, simply rasp monotonously.

It is not only sunny mornings ushered in with song, but also rainy mornings. The robin, as a matter of fact, should rank as a water bird. He seems happiest when he is wet. He yells for rain in a pleasant fashion, and when there is no rain splashes in bird baths. A wet starling, on the other hand, is more of a tramp than even a dry starling, and the uncouth noises he makes on a rainy morning make the day more disconsolate than would otherwise be possible.

As the days become warmer, the sweet fern begins to be more fragrant along the roadsides, particularly on the broad acres of the Great Plain. The plain impresses the stranger as a monotonous sort of place, and so it is at first glance as seen from a rapidly moving automobile. But explored more slowly, it is found to be full of interesting plants and flowers. The sweet fern is one of the more characteristic.

In the old days of travel by foot or by horse, the fragrance of the sweet fern kept the traveler company on his journey. The summer air was an infusion of many growing things, sometimes gently stirring, sometimes almost succulent in effect. The memory of a summer day would be incomplete without these scents. In these times they are often missed, for the speed of motor travel changes the whole flavor of things; it is not only mankind’s mechanical equipment that is streamlined — his own senses become streamlined, also, and thus trained to miss the delicious minutiae which were a part of everyone’s experience in slower eras.

Sweet fern belongs to the same family as the bayberry. Its fragrance is more marked and is exuded literally. Even after the leaves are dried, it persists, and thus gives a certain zest to the smoking of sweet fern by small boys. One wonders if they still esteem it for this purpose as they did a generation ago.

From the standpoint of fragrance, the wild rose is now in the ascendancy, its scent as native and appealing as the flavor of wild strawberries is to the palate. It will last through July, but the sweet fern will last all summer, defying heat and dust and drought and all the adversity which summer may bring.

Compiled by Cynthia Meisner

library@mvgazette.com