Mountain Laurel: Honoring the Climb

We begin in the shadow of Pine Grove Iron Furnace, a stone and masonry relic nestled along Mountain Creek in south-central Pennsylvania's Michaux State Forest. Built in the mid-eighteenth century, the furnace produced iron pots and iron kettles, fireplace backs, and ten-plate stoves for more than a century before its fires were extinguished in 1895. Today, the stack stands silent and still, form and function transformed— a monument to bygone purpose and industry and testimony to what is enduring and true. Beyond the old furnace, we find a steep and cobbled trail— a route ascending through green contoured forest with sunlight dancing amidst maple and birch, oak and tulip poplar— light pirouetting downward, meeting us on the rocky, rootbound slope. The way is rugged and beguiling, the sort of path where sounds of deliberate footfall and measured breathing mingle with breeze and birdsong. It's also the sort of path that passes through tangled glens of mountain laurel, blooming today with sprays of pink-and-white hexagonal flowers embellished with burgundy-and-cinnamon dot-and-dash stitchery— for a short season, on the narrow traverse between spring and summer, rustic wilderness bouquets.

This morning, mountain laurel beckons us to pause our footsteps, to come closer, and we do just that: in part, to gaze upon the floral display and in equal part to catch our breath on an overtly vertical trail. The blooms are lovely, and yet in that moment, we think of mountain laurel when blossoms are but memory and promise. In the depths of winter, as other leaves surrender to the season— falling to frost-hardened forest floor or furled against bitter chill— mountain laurel's leathery foliage remains defiantly open to the elements, clinging to branches contorted against north wind like weathered woodland sculpture. It is then that mountain laurel seems most poignant and eloquent— biding vagaries of time and tempest, bearing silent, still witness to our footsteps— and honoring the climb. — B. 

Mountain Laurel

blooming

on gnarling branch in tangled glen,

a wilderness bouquet,

a beckoning—

blooming

not with vanity or pretense,

but with perseverance,

 in reckoning—

and when

the world is shadowed with sorrow,

if the path seems unkind,

look to mountain laurel,

how it endures

through time—

look to mountain laurel,

how it honors

the climb.

— B.

Mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia), the state flower of Pennsylvania, is widely found throughout the Eastern United States. A gloriously prolific shrub, it often develops into dense, impenetrable thickets, with some plants growing more than ten feet tall. The mountain laurel is a survivor. It can endure harsh conditions, growing on all kinds of terrain, and requiring little in the way of resources— it perseveres. When blooming, the plant is an undeniable beauty. Its white or pink flowers resemble inside-out parasols, with distinctive markings in shades of purple and red. But even very young mountain laurel plants have branches that tangle and gnarl in ways that tell you they intend to persist. Many a hiker whose feet have gotten caught up in those branches will tell you why they are called ankle busters— among other things.

The mountain laurel pushes back at every challenge it is given. Highly toxic from root to leaf, it keeps potential predators at bay. And the plant is an active pollinator— it literally throws pollen on insects that approach it. The flower has ten anthers arched inside it like pulled-back slingshots, each armed with a sac full of pollen. When a pollinator touches the flower, it sets off the triggers and it gets coated in pollen. While mountain laurel does what it needs to take care of itself, it also gives back. Along with being a pollinator for insects, it is a major player in supporting the underground fungi network that cycles nutrients within the forest community. Those branches that trip up hikers also provide shelter and protection for small woodland creatures. And then there are those irresistible flowers— few can help but appreciate this feisty stunner of a plant.

In trying times, we might take inspiration from the mountain laurel, finding strength to push forward and persevere. Through adversity, even in grief, each of us can nurture a mindset that serves us well. Take stock of your present life course. Consider life as it is right now in this moment, and list five things that make your life worth living. Think about people that bring you love and security, things that make you smile, places where you find comfort, activities that you enjoy. Think big (nature) or think small (ice cream). If your present road is bumpy and this exercise is difficult, take a breath and allow for a moment of self-compassion: This is a hard time for me, and it will not always feel this way. Whether it seems like it or not, I will be able to feel joy at another time. Right now, I am doing my best, and I will persevere. The ability to offer yourself this kind of care may even become an ongoing source of joy for you.

from Mountain Laurel

My bonnie flower, with truest joy

Thy welcome face I see,

The world grows brighter to my eyes,

And summer comes with thee....

— Louisa May Alcott, 1832-1888, American novelist and poet