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

Johnny Jump-up

In the early 70s I wanted to write an herb book. I lived at Priest Lake, Idaho at Hill's Resort for two summers and wintesr. The summers were fun, swimming, water skiing, drinking Coors around campfires. The winters brought feet and feet of snow. One winter so much snow, the berms were 20' deep. There wasn't much happening after the crew went home. Of course it was dark early and Jack and would sit around reading--no TV--or I would knit and he'd play the guitar. We had a cat named Jude who was in the middle of everything, knitting, sewing, eating, always.

Priest Lake and later on Corral Hill in the Clearwater Ranger District is where I began my photography of herbs and the studio--Edgar Casey and herbalists, of the medicinal value of herbs. There a peach leaves to comfort an upset stomach, ferns for nettle bites, nettles for vitality in the spring. I don't remember what Johnny Jump-up is for. But it is sweet, and a cousin of the viola, the violet, the pansy.

My sister and I press flowers. It's something we learned from a great aunt. She pressed flowers in a dusty old year book from Anapolis where her husband went to college. Everyone has a nick-name in this book. Someone is probably called Johnny Jump-up. She used her pressed flowers to make framed pictures, groupings of panseys and coral bells, ferns, yarrow leaves, etc. Both my sister and I have pictures she made, and the frames, OMB, so ornate.

My sister now makes her pressed flowers into cards. One of these days I'll get some of her cards on this site so folks can purchase them. They are wonderful. Gardening cards. Perfect. Well now I'm off for a walk with my daughter and grandbaby. We walk three miles twice a week. It's good, the grandbaby in the stroller, mother and daughter huffy away--oh yes, and as only in the PNW, we stop halfway for a cup of joe.

Peace!