My spring hiking has been hobbled – literally – by a bruised knee. Sounds trivial, but it’s a nuisance. No hilltop vistas for me in May. Fortunately, with rail trails and local conservation areas, I’ve had options. And May was a month for wildflower hikes.

April showers did exactly what the old rhyme says they do. Before taller plants were ready to flower, ground covers were blooming. I appreciate the tiny flowers that announce the end of mud season. I love the way their colors punctuate the season’s new growth. Certain flowers seemed to be everywhere I walked: purple fringed polygala, starflower, bluets.

Others were harder to find. In the conservation area closest to my house, I searched in vain for two weeks for trillium before finding a single one. I spotted no lily of the valley until the last week of the month.

To my delight, I did find a jack-in-the-pulpit on a trail in the next town over. That odd little plant might be everywhere, but I hadn’t spotted one before. It’s just a few inches high. I only found it because it was tucked right next to a particularly vigorous shoot of poison ivy, and its foliage didn’t seem to match. I carefully nudged the poison ivy’s leaves aside and was rewarded with the day’s prize sighting.

The ladyslippers always seem to spring out of nowhere in May. This has been a good year for them. A friend sent me an email one day about a certain trail we like, saying “ladyslipper alley coming next week.” Indeed! One day they were nowhere in sight even though I knew I was standing where I’ve seen them in other years. A week later, I spied a few pairs of ladyslipper leaves cautiously stretching out as though they were reluctant to give up shielding the flower stalks inside. Within just a few days, the stalks were upright, each one a good eight inches high or more, each bearing a striking blossom. Nothing tiny or modest about these ephemeral spring beauties. They show off like divas for two weeks, then it’s goodbye until next year.

Not everything blooming in spring is delightful. Invasive plants along my local trails threaten to overpower native vegetation. I found a patch of unfamiliar flowers making themselves at home at a nearby trailhead. A phone app backed up by some information from UNH’s Cooperative Extension service helped me identify the plant as garlic mustard. That inoffensive-looking pest will spread all over the forest floor if it’s left unchecked, crowding out the woodland wildflowers. I pulled up what I could, and I’ll be back to pull some more, disposing of it in the trash and definitely not in the compost pile.

June might see me back on the hills as my knee heals. I call North Uncanoonuc in Goffstown my rehab hill, because that’s the first place with any elevation that I go to post-injury. I hope to be there soon.

_{All photos by Ellen Kolb.}

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