~ April 12, 2025

Some of my fondest childhood memories begin in the woods, tromping through the forest alongside my mom, Grandma, and Great-Grandma Harford. Every early spring, we’d head out together in search of wildflowers, the delicate and fleeting spring ephemerals. Sometimes my Aunt Suzi would join us when she visited from the city, and our neighbor Peggy often tagged along, camera in hand, eager to capture what she could of the fast-fading blooms.

We looked for Virginia Bluebells waving gently in the breeze and Trout Lilies tucked beneath last year’s leaves. There were yellow and purple Violets, Spring Beauty, and blood-red Trillium, which my Great-Grandma Harford called, “bloody noses.” Cutleaf Toothwort danced in the breeze, and Dutchman’s Breeches sometimes made their elusive selves known. Mayapple was a sign we had found a resting spot for the family of deer that lived in our woods. These timber treasures were hard to photograph and even harder to hold onto, you can’t pick these flowers to make a fresh-cut bouquet. They are delicate; gone in a blink, unforgettable.

Spring ephemerals teach us something about time. They’re here, and then they’re gone. But in that brief bloom, they remind us that new life is always on the way. They’re a whisper of resurrection. A sign of the season. A breath of fresh air when we need it most.

This time of year we also walked through the season of Lent, a 40-day journey of reflection and return. Like the ephemerals, it’s brief. We wander. We wrestle. We wait. And yet, Lent carries us forward with the quiet promise of Easter: new life, renewed hope, and healing.

This spring, those wildflowers feel especially close as our family continues forward with Joey’s healing journey. (Follow more on Joey’s Caring Bridge) Throughout this season of Lent and Springtime we have experienced so much across the spectrum of emotions. Fear, joy, anxiety, gratitude, anger, love and everything in between. We have somehow made it to Good Friday in such a different spot than we thought we would be. The trauma of this all, the trauma of Good Friday, is not lost on us. But we trust and know that there is goodness, healing, and new life on the other side. Being among the wildflowers earlier today was exactly where I needed to be on this Good Friday, given where I spent Ash Wednesday. The quiet beauty of the woods, the blooming things that rise from the dirt, it all feels like a kind of prayer. A Good Friday sort of waiting, with Easter always on the horizon.

So we keep walking the path, eyes open for the signs of new life, on the forest floor, in our own hearts, and with Joey’s healing. And like the Spring ephemerals, we let beauty, however fleeting, carry us forward.

~ Maggie Thomas Harper