Spring's Golden Lily

Trout lily or Dogtooth violet

(Erythronium americanum)

A single bright golden flower tops a slender solitary stem above two mottled green and purple leaves. The lilies open only on bright sunny days, bending toward the ground with gently nodding heads - it always seems to me that they are listening to the awakening earth. The three petals and three sepals with their burgundy streaked outward surfaces curl gracefully backward like tricorns or Turkish hats, disclosing six stamens with rusty red, sometimes brownish anthers. 

We call it "trout lily" because its artfully dappled leaves resemble the coloration of a brook trout, sometimes “adder’s tongue” because the shape of its sharply pointed leaves resemble a snake's forked tongue as they poke through the detritus of last autumn. The lily is sometimes called "fawn lily" because it blooms just as spring fawns are being born, and “dogtooth violet” for the toothy appearance of the underground corm, although the plant is not a violet by any means.

Trout lilies are some of the first springtime blooms, and they play a vital role in maintaining sylvan balance by capturing nutrients from decaying leaf matter. They do it long before the woodland around them has awakened from its winter slumber. When their blooming time has passed, and the lilies have died away for another year, the nutrients are returned to the trees, nourishing them as they stretch their branches skyward and leaf out exuberantly.

The woods are filled with golden trout lilies at the moment, and I am sad to say that the other tenants in their leafy alcoves are dense biting clouds of black flies. We go out and visit them anyway - it is something we would not miss for all the world, bugs or no bugs. Out comes the lemongrass lotion, and off we go.

Sunday was Mother's Day, and the Old Wild Mother (Earth) is the mother of us all. Here's to you, Mama. Deep bows and heartfelt thanks from an elderly (and somewhat creaky) daughter who loves you more than words can say.