The wild ones

Editor?s Note: Early this summer, a spotted touch-me-not growing wild in a weed patch caught veteran NEWS photographer Bob DeLong?s eye. Using his Nikon-D-1 digital camera equipped with a 105 mm lens and an extension tube, he caught morning dewdrops on the orange flower. In between shooting news and sports assignments this summer, DeLong took time out to capture and share with readers other Maine flowers growing wild in fields, along roadsides and in unexpected places such as an industrial park.

Wild and free they roam, the mower their only enemy.

Even then they stand defiant, sending up miniature versions until the seed is set. Without a foe, they thrive, lining roads, blanketing fields, fringing trees.

Wildflowers march across this land to the beat of the seasons as a rhythm of color sweeps from spring to summer to fall, the whites and yellows punctuated with bursts of pink, orange, purple and red.

Spring is all green, its flowers seemingly delicate and somehow easy to overlook amid the verdant flush spreading over the earth. From a distance, bluets look like a dusting of snow and violets a shadow in the grass. But kneel and be humbled that something so small and fragile can withstand the biting cold and packed snow of a Maine winter.

As the days pass, the brassy marsh marigolds fill waterlogged ditches, their yellow faces glowing under the sun. Stands of winter cress rise up along thoroughfares, dipping in the wake of passing vehicles.

Blue flag iris dot wet fields before the arrival of the titans: buttercups and daisies, dandelions and clover.

In the woods, the purple trillium sets off a stink as jack-in-the-pulpit plays hide-and-seek. Sunlight and shadows disguise the fluttering beauty of wild columbine.

Rugosa roses edge the shoreline, the higher ground hugged by beach peas while the lower is embraced by sea lavender.

Purple, pink and white lupine rise in a glorious show on hillsides and roadsides, in back yards and front, wherever the wind blows. Birdsfoot trefoil reflects the sunshine in its diminutive pealike blooms while orange day lilies erupt daily with vibrant new life.

White sweet clover and cool blue chicory shoot up along the grassy shoulders of many a lane and highway. The road crews mow the giants down, only to reveal a froth of pink crown vetch. Milkweed grows lush, its alluring blossoms nectar for the monarchs of the air.

As summer deepens, the intricate weave of Queen Anne’s Lace adorns the land. Fireweed blazes through openings in woods and meadows. Cattails swish to life, fighting the encroachment of purple loosestrife.

Butter-and-eggs sizzle as August ripens. Goldenrods – the sweet, the tall, the rough-stemmed – cast a golden pall, a sure sign that autumn nears.

Fleabanes thrive then fade as the asters arrive for their annual leaf-peeping tour.

And so it goes every year, every decade, every lifetime: One wave of color surges then ebbs as the next wave builds, ending only when the snow flies.