A small congregation of jack-in-the-pulpits sprouted up seemingly overnight in a patch of newly spread pine bark mulch. I’m not sure whether they traveled as stow-aways in the mulch bags or transplanted themselves from our own woodlands, since these North American natives thrive in moist thickets from Nova Scotia to Florida. They reminded me of the Emily Dickinson poem about going to church by finding heaven in your own backyard. Of the many things I admire about Dickinson, her determination to eschew organized religion is right up there on my list. 
Though I found the recent movie about her life — “A Quiet Passion” — overly somber, there was a terrific scene near the beginning where she point-blank refused to join the Calvinist revival sweeping through New England at that time. “I am one of the lingering bad ones,” she told a friend. That same spirit of proud rebellion is evident in this lovely poem:
Click on the cover for details:
The garden and beyond:
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Love the flowers and Emily Dickinson poem. I feel similarly about organized religion. I would much rather by out in nature .
I think nature is my religion — just think of the wonderful lessons it has to teach us!
Lovely. And caused me to remember that my mother, Avina, was the first tree-hugger.
Thank you Liza, as always, for another petite vacation.
Bucky
Thanks, Bucky. Avina — what a beautiful name. I bet the gardens out in your neck of the woods are flourishing!
It’s so nice to see flowers spreading across the top of this page. It makes it official: Summer is on its way.
Thanks, Anders. We’ll be looking even better once these 40 days of rain recede.
I love the poem and would be delighted if my mulch brought with it such a wonderful flower instead of just a ton of work. I
I think I just lucked out with the mulch, Susan. It was from McEnroe’s.
Thanks for the loveliness. I mentioned to Bill this weekend how I have never felt compelled to join an organized religion. It seems there are a lot of us out there. Thanks for brining this to light.
Thank you, Phyllis!
Organization seems to be held in bloated esteem, and never more so than when applied to organized religion. Consider that the transition from polytheism to monotheism is almost universally regarded as “progress.” Who says? The legacy of thousands of years of learned minds coexists with equally venerable revealed religions, their rational and spiritual compasses pointing the way to salvation through a similar pin hole: a single force so absolute that all competing narratives are relegated to an ash heap called superstition. Is Dickinson a primitive when she attributes sublimity to flowers? A lingering bad one, indeed.
What a thoughtful and insightful response, Umit — especially that “similar pin hole.” Thank you!
Lovely. Lovely. Lovely, sis – her poem, your thoughts, the Jack in the pulpits and nature. xxxxx
Thank you, Stephen! Xxx