I went to the woods this morning to find sassafras leaves for a student, a task I've never before been asked to undertake. The student is preparing a presentation on Appalachian folk remedies and intends to bring in props but couldn't find any sassafras trees on campus. No problem! I headed for the woods and found all three leaf shapes growing from the same branch--the oval, the mitten, and the three-fingered glove.
On my walk I found some vestiges of summer--scarlet pokeweed stems among the crackling foliage, creek rocks coated with slick green liverwort, one last lingering dayflower at the edge of the meadow. The dry rocks lining the creek bed remind me that our very wet spring wrecked farmers' crops all over the state. Now we're hoping for rain to break the drought--but not too much rain. Just enough. If I were in charge of the weather, I would have spread out last spring's rains throughout the year.
But I'm not a weathermaker or any other kind of deity, despite my students' recent insistence that I'm a teaching goddess. I'm not letting that designation go to my head because I have a long memory for all my errors, supported by a file full of student comments on course evaluations. (The word despicable comes to mind.) If appreciation is falling like rain from the heavens, I'll stand here and soak it in while I can, knowing that eventually the rain will end and drought will come.
Meanwhile, though, how about some sassafras tea? I may not have the power to change the weather, but I can make sassafras leaves appear in the classroom so my students can do their own kind of magic.
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| Pokeweed |
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| Fungus the size of a dinner plate growing on the stump of the tulip poplar my husband cut down last month. |
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| It's a magical place even when my creek is nearly dry. |
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| Dayflower! |
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