09/06/2026
The Forest is full of unexpected wonders right now. Thistle and Joe-Pye w**d, shining sumac and elephant's foot, the first of the fall asters opening along the trail edges. They waited out the whole loud summer and are only now unfolding, and the bees and butterflies have found every one of them. Look closely at the photos and you'll see the traffic. Look closely at the edge of the trees at dusk and you'll see the night shift clocking in, because it is moth season too, and the pollinating goes on long after we diurnal creatures have called it a day.
It would be easy to call these late bloomers “laggards”. Our society seems to prize the early and the efficient, the linear path, the clear rule that lets us make sense of things from our own hurried vantage point. But an ecosystem doesn't keep that kind of calendar. Instead, it marks the change in humidity, the slant of late-afternoon light that is sharp and golden where it pierces the gloam beneath a deep tree canopy, the morning chorus of birds and insects that shifts a little each day with the sunrise, the stars and planetary alignments moving across the sky slowly overhead. The late bloomers are not behind. They are right on time in their own time, arriving with nectar exactly when the hummingbirds and monarchs need one more good meal before the long flight south.
I don't fully believe that nature is only a Darwinist contest of the ‘fittest’. Watch the Forest long enough, and it looks more like a journey of the well-timed and the well-connected, of things adapting alongside one another, leaning into change, weaving their lives together in the liminal space between seasons. Some things simply need more time and more space. That doesn't make them slower, or less than, or better than. It makes them part of the woven tapestry of things.
I am a late bloomer myself. So was the nap I took today, which I'm calling essential. There is a time for everything under the sun, as the old book says and the Byrds sang, and the late Wendell Berry spent a lifetime of Sabbath mornings teaching us to trust that timing rather than rush it. I like to think He'd have liked this week's asters too.
Come walk the Forest before the first frost. Bring your patience. Something out here is blooming just for you, and it is right on time.
Pics & ponderings by PAWhitener