Skunk Cabbage Appreciation Tee
Broadcast your affection for spring’s first wildflower, the thermogenic bee ski chalet wonder, the inimitable and ephemeral Skunk Cabbage.
100% cotton short-sleeve Comfort Colors t-shirt printed with lavender and glow-in-the-dark (!!!) ink by Pepo Press in Burlington, VT.
“What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty” is the last line in Mary Oliver’s poem, Skunk Cabbage.
—
Ordering is open through Sunday, March 24th, then we’ll close up until the summer solstice!
All orders will be shipped/available for local pick-up by Wednesday, March 27th.
Broadcast your affection for spring’s first wildflower, the thermogenic bee ski chalet wonder, the inimitable and ephemeral Skunk Cabbage.
100% cotton short-sleeve Comfort Colors t-shirt printed with lavender and glow-in-the-dark (!!!) ink by Pepo Press in Burlington, VT.
“What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty” is the last line in Mary Oliver’s poem, Skunk Cabbage.
—
Ordering is open through Sunday, March 24th, then we’ll close up until the summer solstice!
All orders will be shipped/available for local pick-up by Wednesday, March 27th.
Broadcast your affection for spring’s first wildflower, the thermogenic bee ski chalet wonder, the inimitable and ephemeral Skunk Cabbage.
100% cotton short-sleeve Comfort Colors t-shirt printed with lavender and glow-in-the-dark (!!!) ink by Pepo Press in Burlington, VT.
“What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty” is the last line in Mary Oliver’s poem, Skunk Cabbage.
—
Ordering is open through Sunday, March 24th, then we’ll close up until the summer solstice!
All orders will be shipped/available for local pick-up by Wednesday, March 27th.
Skunk Cabbage by Mary Oliver
And now as the iron rinds over
the ponds start dissolving,
you come, dreaming of ferns and flowers
and new leaves unfolding,
upon the brash
turnip-hearted skunk cabbage
slinging its bunched leaves up
through the chilling mud.
You kneel beside it. The smell
is lurid and flows out in the most
unabashed way, attracting
into itself a continual spattering
of protein. Appalling its rough
green caves, and the thought
of the thick root nested below, stubborn
and powerful as instinct!
But these are the woods you love,
where the secret name
of every death is life again - a miracle
wrought surely not of mere turning
but of dense and scalding reenactment. Not
tenderness, not longing, but daring and brawn
pull down the frozen waterfall, the past.
Ferns, leaves, flowers, the last subtle
refinements, elegant and easeful, wait
to rise and flourish.
What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty.
