Purple Loosestrife
“Hey, purple stuff”! A while back, Cris and I started seeing this plant near wetlands as we were driving around the Northeast. It was often near highways and at first we really liked seeing it. At some point I read an article about how it is a very invasive plant called Purple Loosestrife that rapidly spreads and is taking over wetlands at a scary rate. Cris had a hard time remembering the name, so it became a bit of a joke with us. We’d be in the car and the first to see it would call out “Hey, Purple Stuff”. (Akin to our “THERE”S the sewage treatment plant”.) Anyway, Peter and the Pearl and I were walking today and there was tons of it near the UMASS football field. It was very windy and beautiful, and I liked how the goldenrod looked next to it.
Graveyard
No matter where I live, there is one spot which I am always surprised to see. It is as if it doesn’t belong to its surroundings, so in my mind I block it out. In Ithaca there was a stretch of road that gave me the feeling of being somewhere else, and there was a street in Springfield, OH that had the same affect on me. / Peter and I were walking in downtown Amherst yesterday and as I looked to my left down an alley, I saw this graveyard. It is literally in the very center of town, but is situated in such a way that it is not visible unless you are really looking for it. Emily Dickinson is buried here, so there are almost always vague looking people wandering around paying their respects.
Garden
Every year these plants come up in the garden at about the same time. They are so delicate and lovely, but they never flower (edit: They do have little flowers which I have discovered are refered to as sow’s teats). I have no idea what they are (edit: see comments). It is a nice gray day, so I figured it was about time to take some pictures.
crocuses
Every April these crocuses (I looked up the plural) come out through a pile of pine needles and leaves just out the kitchen window. It seems so improbable that it could happen year after year. After a long winter of burning wood in the stove, and darkness and cold, how this happens is a wonder to me.
Jon Crispin's Notebook 
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