LETTER from the
EDITOR
Air hangs with sweet vernal grass, the Willow’s hair tangles on the wind, springsongs carry from Meadowlarks and Warblers and Waxwings; Bumblebees hum above, Otters slide down muddy banks to the river below. It’s always a perfect mix of sunny and warm— the kind of sunlight you stretch out under, the kind you can feel through your eyelids. I think the best part, though, is that you’re surrounded by the whole ecosystem, from the smallest pebble to the tallest tamaracks. The field benefits from a little bit of everything, as do we. I’d like to be a field of wildflowers because of the wholeness of it all. You are among. You are part of a reciprocal environment. What is given is shared, what is shared is returned, what is returned is shared again. (of course, you do not have to be a wildflower field for any of this to happen now, it’s just a welcome visual to have in a Montana winter as I write this)
But cultivating wildflowers is more than spreading seeds. There’s the growth from last year, working under snow, helping the soil. Burn scars from years past, fresh spring rain, the transport of wind, the gift of sun— a wildflower does not grow on its own. Neither do we. A wildflower, wherever it may grow— be it the woods or the high desert or a crack in the pavement— is a wondrous being. It has grown among. Through wind and weather, through asphalt, in between places you’d least expect— it has grown with, despite, because. A driveway dandelion is a heroic feat, aided by the deep soil below, undeterred by stone and sand of the inky pitch determined to smother any life that may exist beneath. Every flower is remarkable in its own right. Hold on to that; keep it in the pocket of your favorite coat. And remember— as the flowers are, so are you.
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