For the past six years, I have been an increasingly avid "day-hiker" in the Adirondack mountains. As other Adirondack enthusiasts will tell you, these mountains get under your skin. They are not nearly as high as the Rockies out West, and not even quite as high as the Smokies down South, but they represent a unique geological phenomenon that sets them apart even from the ranges nearby, like the Green Mountains in Vermont or the Appalachian mountains that stretch into Southern New York. The peaks are reflected in thousands of lakes and ponds that were once glaciers, and laced by an abundance of gushing rivers and babbling brooks. Unlike most other mountains, the Adirondacks are actually in "uplift." That is, they continue to gain elevation (a few inches each century), and in the "high peaks" area, a normally subterranean rock similar to moon rocks is abundantly visible in sheer cliffs. But all of that is for another time.
I discovered the Adirondacks during a particularly stressful time. Actually, I prefer to think that God introduced them to me, providing a way to maintain my sanity, a place to go when I needed space to clear my head. I sometimes refer to the whole Adirondack Park as "God's playground." That's what it has been for me – a huge, open place with lots of wilderness where God invites me to play, to pray, and once in awhile to stay in spiritual retreat. In times of discouragement, restlessness, or frustration, I have sensed God calling me from atop one of those peaks and calling me to come up and enjoy the view.
For a while, the views at the top were my only interest. When you feel like you are down in the muck of intractable problems that can only be managed and never solved, it is healing to stand on an open, rocky peak and be awed by the beauty of creation in all directions. It isn't a feeling of being "on top of the world" so much as the comfort of a wider view that puts all the particular struggles of life in perspective.
But in recent years, my enjoyment of those commanding vistas has been augmented by a growing interest in wildflowers. Every time I spot one that I haven't seen before, I photograph it, then when I get home, I look for it in my Audubon Society book of wildflowers. So now, I am just as intimately connected to Hobblebush, Painted and Purple Trillium, Trout Lillies, Bunchberries, Orange Hawkweed, Blue Flag Irises, and Bottled Gentians, as I am to the peaks of Marcy, Algonquin, Gothics, Giant, Noonmark, the Wolf Jaws, and so on.
However, one particular wildflower – the Pink Ladyslipper – had remained hidden from my view, and the more I looked for it to no avail, the more disappointed I became at not finding it. I saw pictures of it on postcards and in brochures, but never in person. Oddly enough, no wildflower is more closely associated with the Adirondacks, and yet flower observers regularly refer to it as "elusive" and "rare." When it does appear, it is glorious to behold. I suspect that several hikers think they have seen Pink Ladyslippers when they've really seen something smaller and less showy (though still beautiful in its own right). Touch-me-nots, for instance, are sometimes confused as Ladyslippers.
And so it was that while I hiking the trail toward Marcy Dam a couple of weeks ago with the intention of climbing up Phelps Mountain, I was stopped dead in my tracks by – no, is it really? Yes it is! – a Pink Ladyslipper – tall, straight, and colorful. It looked as though it had been waiting for me to show up. "Here I am. What do you think?" I let out an audible cheer, threw off my backpack, and huddled next to this wild wonder – so perfectly formed, with such large colorful petals that looked just like a pair of ballerina slippers laying next to each other. I was so thrilled with this find that I didn't care whether I made it to the top of the mountain. That elusive flower had revealed itself to me personally, and I just marveled at it, with no thought for or awareness of the time.
On my way back after the climb up Phelps, I actually spotted six Pink Ladyslippers, every one just as beautiful as the first, and each one somehow distinct, though I could not put my finger on exactly why.
I find it interesting that my love affair with the Adirondacks has matured from an exclusive interest in big open views to include moments of contemplation in the woods along the way. I look intently for single flowers close to the ground in the midst of this vast, open country that is so big I can never take it in.
I am reminded of Jesus' parable of the "treasure hidden in the field" (Matthew 13:44) as well as the parable about the "merchant in search of a fine pearl" (Matthew 13:45-46). These parables suggest to me that even God, who stands over the entire universe, enjoys moments of contemplation with the smallest creatures, and craves time with each of us. God numbers the stars of heaven and the hairs on our heads. God is over all and in all. God relishes wide-open views and single wildflowers on the forest floor. And, most amazing of all, God shares this grand celebration of creation – with me. Wow.
Copyright 2010 by J. Mark Lawson
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