Indian Paintbrush

In the mountains, the meadows are awash with Indian paintbrush. I remember as a young woman wandering the woods at Priest Lake, and stopping to marvel over this plant. Why, I'm not certain. I think my mother liked it, too. Perhaps that was the connection, as my mother wasn't much of an outdoorsy person. So to have her like a wild flower was interesting. Maybe it was on a trip to Yellowstone, while she sat in the car smoking. As we ate our baloney sandwiches at a picnic table, hurrying to finish before the marauding bears came and stole our lunch, mother looked out the window and pointed with her cigarette at the Indian Paintbrush, saying, "Those are my favorite." Even if this isn't how it went, I find it is an interesting plant, because the flower looks to be an extension of the leaves. Some are larger than others==perhaps different types. And I swore I saw yellow Indian paintbrush on the drive down from Sauk Mountain. I will look that one up and report back.

In the mountains around Priest Lake we heard stories of intentionally set forest fires. Fires were good money for crews of folks living on the fringe. When they could get out and dig fire trenches and back burn clear-cuts, they could make enough money to get through the winter. One such burn produced a lush expanse of fireweed, bear grass, Indian paintbrush and of course morel mushrooms. My first husband and I used to wander around in the mountains when we weren't working at the resort—him pumping gas and raking the forest, me waiting tables and cleaning cabins. It was a good summer job, although the pay was below minimal—the owners depended on tips to fill in the void, still we were in the woods and by the lake.

The lake became a nightly hangout for the crew, skinny-dipping in the cool water under the blackness of night. The stars overhead where brilliant, swaths of galaxies, sometime faint waves of aurora borealis. Even though the lake is far north, the heat could remain extreme, drying the forest and forcing the bear down to the lowlands, the resort, the garbage and eventually into our truck/camper to drink the dirty dish water. More than once we returned home to find the camper ransacked.

Ah, the olden days. I really have fond memories of living in the mountains and intend to get to them regularly now. Perhaps not with such climbing exuberance, but definitely with picnic lunches and a sketchbook and camera. And perhaps I'll take Newcomb's Wildflower Guide

Peace, Flower

PS Yes, there are red, orange, yellow, and white paintbrushes. See this site for more pictures.http://www.intangibility.com/inw/Wildflowers/Indian-Paintbrush.html