Dear Wigleaf,

I'm writing fresh from a walk in a swamp. I just threw my muddy sneakers in the wash.

My nine-year-old son had asked for a walk in the "deep woods" this morning, so we ventured out to the 65-acre park near our house. We walked 11 minutes to get to this other world.

We ditched the paths where people walk their dogs and headed for the skinny little trails that snake through wetlands. Makeshift boards laid down by the Scouts helped our feet stay dry—mostly. I slipped on one of the boards and got my pink sneaker covered in muck.

It's March, so besides the mud, we walked amid greyed-out smushed leaves and bare branches. "It's nice to be deep in the woods," said my son. And that's when we spotted the moss—you should have seen the moss, how bright green it was. Once we saw one patch, we saw dozens and dozens more.

Then, I spotted something I'd never seen before: a group of plants with hard burgundy casings. My son told me not to touch them in case they were poisonous. (I'm fine.) Then we saw them everywhere, in varying states of opening. In one, we saw a seeded bulb nested inside.

We found out later the plants are called skunk cabbage, and they're a sign of spring. When they're in bloom, they emit a scent that's like rotting meat to attract insects that will do their pollinating work for them. 

Wish you could have been there,

Cheryl
Newton, Mass.