Skunk Cabbage

Down near the river, by the edges of a swampy area, bright green leaves can be seen poking up through the sludge. The soil has warmed enough for the skunk cabbage to appear. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this plant, the name pretty much says it all. Oh yes, it smells.

When I see the new growth each year, not only do I realize that spring is just around the corner, it reminds my of my Aunt Julia. (My apologies in advance if I don’t get the details exactly correct on this story, but this is how I remember hearing it.)

Aunt Julia had quite a few kids. Farm kids. Not a one of them spent much time indoors, they were an active bunch. One of the kids got into trouble, I think it had something to do with being hungry, butchering one of the neighbors chickens and bringing the cleaned carcass home for Julia to cook for dinner. The kid didn’t bother to ask the neighbor before starting his meat-packing business.

Aunt Julia did not take kindly to thievery, unlawful butchery, or the nerve of her child expecting her to cook his ill-gotten gains.

In the country, punishment is swift, there is no waiting for dad to come home, or time-out thinking about the crime. The kid had to go out to the woodshed for his own whipping stick. To add to the pain, the kid then had to go to the neighbor to return the skinned chicken and explain his actions. Chores at the neighbor house for the next week would be payment for the loss of the prize chicken.

As the kid was walking home from the neighbors house, he noticed the bright green leaves with beautiful yellow flowers growing out near the swamp. He felt bad about making his mother so sad with his bad decisions about the neighbors bird, and decided that he would pick her a bouquet.

He waded into the swamp and became a muddy mess while getting the spring bounty. He knocked and waited patiently at the front door for his mother to find the mud covered kid and his apology flowers.

Aunt Julia was very proud of her child, about how this act of contrition  showed true remorse for this unlawful act and would never again take what wasn’t theirs. Even though the bouquet stunk to high-heaven, it was proudly displayed on the dining room table. This became a tradition in the household.

That was more than sixty years ago, the story is as vibrant now as the smell of those skunk cabbages every spring.