Another Sunken-Meadow trek, a new sweet aroma to spin my wheels. Fine start to column day.

A warm, light rain fell through gray, dense air, so heavy you needed a sharp machete to bust through it. I was exercising the dogs, peds saturated after a few easy steps through ankle-high grass, alluring scent lifting my spirit. It was the same sweetness that had tickled my nostrils the previous afternoon, similarly breathless and damp, this one grayer and wetter, me on a sodden mission.

Virgin-white Queen Anne’s Lace filled the meadow like stilted teacup saucers towering over the infant Christmas trees, sumac fruit coloring the periphery here and there like bright red dabs of paint on canvas. I have many times passed Queen Anne’s Lace in my travels but have never inspected it, buried my nose in the flower, extracted its carrot root. Today would be different. After Googling it, I wanted to know more. I had sensed a new scent mixed with the fragrant clover, itself sweet, and figured it must have been the blooming wildflower; but I wanted to make sure, imprint it in my memory for future reference; every day a nature’s classroom.

With the turf softened by drenching overnight rains, the time was right. I pulled up the first plant I passed, smelled its flower, studied its narrow, turnip-colored root. So I now know the sweet scent of Queen Anne’s Lace, will always recognize it like the multiflora rose that captivated me a month or so back on that same sunken, riverside stage. The subtle scent is quite invigorating, akin to the finest French perfume, and quite complementary to the clovers, like they were made for each other. Who knows? Maybe they were.

Next year I’ll likely taste the spring carrot, young and tender. Wild carrots. Yum. My cup of tea.