The Solitary Foxglove

We regret to report that as beautiful as the Northwest Woods are, there are very few flowers (at least whose names we know) but as it happens foxglove is one of them.

You’ll note the double significance of Solitary Foxglove then, both in the fact of its being the only foxglove in the picture and the only flower we seem to know the name of.

The Solitary Foxglove is notable for its (sometimes) being quite pink, which would not under ordinary circumstances be a disadvantage, but in this case induces a great deal of self-consciousness. As it happens, there has been considerable discussion among certain forest individuals regarding the advisability of being quite so pink. Many seem to believe that by virtue of color alone one is either lesser or better than certain others, which sounds to us at the outset like a frankly illogical proposition. We wonder, what exactly could be the significance of something so arbitrary as... color? With the exception of puce, which has to be one of the more unfortunately named colors we know of, reminding us, as it does, of certain unfortunate rumbly tummy moments, there is no conceivably wrong color. And the color puce itself is actually quite lovely, unlike the ironically beautifully named chartreuse, which actual color makes us want, well, to puce.

The further absurdity of having been demeaned for his pinkness is aptly demonstrated in the photograph below of one of his fellow flowers.



As you can clearly discern (if you were any closer you would be living there) white foxglove is hardly in a position to disparage others of a Different Stripe, what with its own predilection for purple freckles. We view this as a sensible reminder that one must always Consider the Source before taking to heart a Castigating Remark. In our experience, Fine Fellows of either a flora or fauna variety tend not to make the latter, or to take Full Responsibility for insensitivity if such a remark happens to issue forth.

In any event, the Solitary Foxglove got wind of all the prejudice, and, added to his sense of solitariness, was his fear that he was Not Quite Right. This is a condition that is singularly demoralizing for any number of individuals, and not one we would wish upon our Worst Enemies (although we cannot think of any at the moment). Every time we passed the Solitary Foxglove he would hang his many heads in what appeared to be a Certain Despair, or perhaps a Modest Disillusionment, and we would feel quite badly on his behalf.

Most often it is wise to let Nature Take Its Course, but there are those moments when we feel it is necessary to step in and have a Conversation. This was one of them. If we had our druthers (not that we would know them if we met them at breakfast since we have no idea what druthers are and think that they sound particularly in need of a little milk and sugar) we would most certainly have arranged that the Solitary Foxglove immediately be transported to one of the lovely other foxglove patches we would have happily gone to great effort to discover. We could not have done so, however, without removing him from his roots, or “picking” him (not a very felicitous image since noses immediately come to mind) and, anyhow, it is always useful to keep one’s roots in one’s purview, the better to note when said roots are interfering in one’s Inalienable Right to Be Oneself.

So, picking and transporting the Solitary Foxglove to another neck of the woods (do woods really have necks, we wonder?) where he would find company galore, was, of course, out of the question for the reasons above and the fact that it would have resulted in his eventual (if not prompt) demise, which consequence is another useful caution about proceeding with entirely too much dispatch, since wanting to Fix Things without fully thinking them through quite often results in more trouble, if not a visit from the Grim Reaper.



More from him later.

(Just kidding.)

Having discarded that idea then, we were left with what was our original resolve, which was to have a Conversation. Certainly we couldn’t move the Solitary Foxglove, but perhaps we could move him, in the sense of emotionally reassure.

We do not recall all the specifics of the conversation (and it was rather one-sided), but in the main what we urged was that he take Pride in his Pinkness. Pink, though not the manliest of shades, is one of the kindest, and we have boundless appreciation for kindness. It’s quite like our old friend Dennis said, too much is never enough.

Plus, we added, there were others just like him in other necks of the woods (how many necks would a woods need, we wonder?) and although he couldn’t actually see them at present, we hoped he would take some reassurance in knowing of their presence. Then we described to him how wonderful it would be to be surrounded by those who completely understood you (not that anyone ever really completely does) and who, in the very least, would claim you as their own and perhaps even invite you to join in some celebratory activities, such as a parade, or sky-diving, or trips to the aquarium, or… well, perhaps we are getting carried away with ourselves here.



In any event, we said that sometimes, in our experience, there is considerable satisfaction to be had in utterly giving oneself over to imagining in specific detail how wonderful things might be at Another Point.

Well, he did appear to be mildly reassured, as evidenced by a little twitching of his pink, showy, tubular, pendant, and elongated heads (or perhaps that was the wind) and in any event Nature did Take Its Course shortly thereafter, when scores of tiny foxglove seeds were escorted by the wind to what we are certain was soon to be a foxglove-populous elbow of the woods. Solitary ones always find each other, if they seek to.