I love skunk cabbage. It is one of my favorite signs of spring. As a child, I would carefully navigate the edge of brooks and swamps, making sure not to step on skunk cabbage plants. It was fun to be a bit scared of the potential stink, though the fear of the smell was worse than the smell itself.
Each year, as the light changes and the air warms, I watch the wet ground for my old friend. First to appear is the waxy, deep-red and green hood-like spathe, which contains the plant’s flowers. Then, the tightly furled leaves emerge out of the wet earth like dancers who lift and twirl to greet the spring sun. In a short time, the brown disappears under a canopy of giant bright green leaves.
During the early days of spring, I hike where skunk cabbage grows. I hike alone, with family and friends, or with the Explorers—the 4- and 5-year-olds in my class at Schoolmates. When we arrive at a patch of skunk cabbage, everyone leans down to get a better look at the odd-looking plants. Usually a game of “spot the skunk cabbage” will start soon after we begin to see plants. “There’s some skunk cabbage. There’s some more skunk cabbage.” Kids like to say the name. A stinky plant named for a stinky animal. What could be better?
During a hike to a cedar swamp near Schoolmates, Skylar, one of the Explorers, was in line behind me. As we walked through the swamp on a boardwalk, skunk cabbage all around us, she made up this poem.
I don’t like yucky skunk cabbage.
It looks pretty, but it doesn’t smell nice.
skunk cabbage (click here and listen)