This post is dedicated to Ms Julie Ball, who is now retired.
Thanks also to Tom Diener, Wanda Birnbaum, and Larry Weber.
I have heard these tales. Long have I wished to know the location of these Pink Ladies.
A couple weeks ago, I bumped into Mrs Birnbaum, and she said that we should go see the Slippers, that she was sure she could remember where they were.
I contacted Ms Ball and Mr Diener, and we all settled on a date. I tried to get Mr Weber to lead us, but he couldn't make it. He did, however, check the spot and tell us that the elusive beauties were, in fact, blooming. If we waited until after graduation, they might well be past their prime. So, on June 7th, after school, Ms Ball, Mrs Birnbaum, Mr Diener, and I made our way to the location.
Tucking pants in socks To keep out ticks that lurk in The tall June grass. |
Heading for the cedars, Mrs Birnbaum searches For Pink Ladies. |
Wearing forest colors, Ms Ball peers into Memory's deep woods. |
Nimble-footed, green-caped, Mr Diener scans The undergrowth. |
And then, we found them, in among some cedars and (what I think are) black spruce trees. |
Tall Pink Lady, with
Slender wings and parasol--
Angel of the bog.
As soon as we spotted one, we saw others, and then even more...Fragile as paper Lanterns, these beacons shine, Leading us onward. |
Ghostly girl, your color Will deepen each day Until you, too, fall. |
My three guides through the woods finally led me to a cluster of Pink Slippers, some a deep pink, some still pale and newly-opened. We counted more than a dozen.
As we explored the area, Mr Diener was naming the other wildflowers we encountered: starflower and bunchberry, while Mrs Birnbaum pointed out a clump of maidenhair ferns. Ms Ball called my attention to a dark hole beneath a tree, a perfect lair for a bog monster.
Snapping photos, I started to think about the distant past, about how many orchids must once have grown in places where now there are only roads, buildings, and parking lots. I am always amazed that these gorgeous flowers have survived what we humans have done to their habitat.
I also started to think of the future: what will Marshall be like, without Mrs Ball? A year from now, will we gather again in this spot, to visit the Ladies, to trade stories and share secrets?
I know I am very grateful that my colleagues (current and former) agreed to show me this special place.
I suggested that we should all write haikus to accompany this post. (Perhaps Mr Diener and Mrs Birnbaum will add some poetic comments?) Mrs Ball wrote a poem, and I took a photo of it. (I'll hang the original in my room.)
Party of 14, Mothers and daughters, Dancing all afternoon. |
Lady in the sun, Showing off for the bees. --Jack disapproves. |
Nodding just a little Under the ferns: Afternoon nap. |
A warning to all Who enter this bog: Keep our secrets, or else! |
I suggested that we should all write haikus to accompany this post. (Perhaps Mr Diener and Mrs Birnbaum will add some poetic comments?) Mrs Ball wrote a poem, and I took a photo of it. (I'll hang the original in my room.)
Ms Ball's poem |
For this sweet afternoon,
Much thanks, Ms Ball.
May there be many more.