Fading flower and new leaves of Skunk Cabbage
Skunk Cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) is one of the best reasons for living in the country. I had never heard of such a plant before moving here to New Paltz (I hadn't heard of many plants, period), and it took me a few years before I cared to look for the source of its name - the flower that emits the odor of rotten meat. But it didn't take much for me to adore the vitality of its beautiful leaves, practically unfurling in front of my eyes over the course of a month or so.
There are many swampy areas where I live. In the winter all is solid and silent. But even when everything seems to be completely frozen, around the end of February, an observant eye (and nose) will find changes in the color, texture and smell of the snow and ice. In March, you find activities of tiny insects - snow fleas and little flies. It is these flies that the flowers of skunk cabbage attract by their smell in order to facilitate pollination long before emergence of bees.
When I first read the description of the odor, I was very curious. I had to wait patiently till the following March to venture out onto the frozen marsh, locate holes in the snow which were created by the heat-giving flowers, bury half of my face in the snow, to get close and smell the flowers. Surprise - they didn't smell like rotten meat! They are not exactly bouquets of roses, but it's not a bad smell. Very earthy, ripe and a bit musky without any sharpness. What caused the discrepancy from its book description is that it is very subtle. Subtlety is not what you expect from rotten meat.
The flowering stage is for the "advanced" fan, which, once discovered, becomes one of the high marks of early spring. I can now recognize the faint smell from quite afar.
But it is the leaves that still take my breath away, every year. Their leathery shine, robust growth rate, and deep, fresh green color - everything about the plant is dynamic. They transform the marsh floor from dark brown mud to the sea of green that evokes the land where dinosaurs once roamed.
It is heartbreaking to see such habitats dwindling due to the urban sprawl. But the vitality of Skunk Cabbage reminds me that they will certainly be standing long after we are gone. I find somewhat a morbid solace in that, to know that we are endangering most of all ourselves. At the same time I cannot escape a sense of profound sadness to imagine a world once again full of natural beauty yet not a soul of human to witness it.
Skunk Cabbage in its habitat. I will update this picture throughout this spring.
11:53:39 PM 
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