A seriously black flower has always been like the elusive Holy Grail. You read about them, see them promoted in catalogs, but they are never truly black, just a really dark something else. That was my impression. Maybe I don't get out enough.
My impression has been proven wrong.
Everything around it has crumbled and turned to dust. The hearth at its feet looks precarious. Some mighty winds roar through this gap consistently. Trees snap in half. This chimney still stands.
Plants that I did not know existed on this mountain appear out of nowhere. And then some more show up when I start looking.
The first Daisies, Leucanthemum vulgare have begun to bloom. It means summer is here, that I have been here for a full year, a full gardening season. This was a dominant flower upon my arrival to the low spot on a North Carolina mountaintop last June.
I still get to see what I missed last year. Columbine are everywhere. I mean everywhere.
Only the stragglers were still blooming last year in mid June.
Through a first cold winter I stacked rocks to keep myself busy, the plastic covered floor of a cabin above me. The months moved along at their own pace, not really dragging, but slowly enough to make a whole house seem a distant, vague illusion.
A new phase has begun.
The roof section for the front living room end of the cabin is rising from stacks of lumber.
Who'd've believed it?
There really is a seriously black flower.