My mother is a law-abiding citizen, generally. But she cannot resist seasonal plants. When we were kids, she would drive the getaway car as we crept into a local cornfield to cut a few stalks for her display on the front porch or altar at church. Pussywillows were also treasures to her. My dad used to get the task of finding boughs at Christmas time (he would always say, "I'm off to get your bows, love", as he bowed and bowed like a performing penguin.
Trilliums in their natural habitat...a forest floor rich with leaves and fallen branches.
Imagine the thrill we had each Spring, then, driving home from visiting relatives in Quebec...mom would make dad stop on the roadside in sight of the "Welcome to Ontario!" billboard, and we'd hop out to pick few for our kitchen table. I still experience a feeling of illicit excitement when the trilliums come into bloom, remembering my mom teasing from the car, "I see a car coming!!", causing us to scramble back up the bank for our big getaway.
The rarest gem on the forest floor: a showgirl trillium appearing amongst the shyer white ones, wearing scarlet to the party. The other trilliums don't like her, but we all know they're just jealous!
Trilliums, otherwise known as the Mayflower: enjoy them, but don't pick 'em (says the reformed daughter-accomplice of a class-one offender!)