Whispers of blue, pink, and occasional white lie scattered across the vibrant Shenandoah riverside, though—as you pause to think—“whispers” isn’t quite the right word. The buds springing forth from the dark earth are like a friend calling out to you within the hushed halls of a library or a cathedral, the space too sacred to welcome commotion, the relationship too sacred not to acknowledge. The bluebells are an invitation to remember where you are. Shenandoah. Skennen’kó:wa.* The rhyming pair has become inseparable in your mind. Whether the words are related, there is no denying how well-suited they are to each other. “Great peace” is abundant in this place.

The bluebells, with their bowed heads, are an invitation to humble yourself. You kneel by the wooden fence lining the pathway through the park and peer through it, no longer above the flowers but nearer to their height—in other words, nearer to their perspective. At this level, you are instantly transported to childhood summers in the hillsides of home, where fireflies danced in the purple twilight to the song of tree frogs hiding in the native dogwoods and Japanese maples, every one of those beings a daoine sìth from the Celtic fairy tales you grew up with. A little god or ancestor making their own form of magic in the world. As you rise, you realize you had forgotten how much you had grown.

The bluebells are an invitation to regard the little gods all around you. The bright blooms catch your eye, but once they do, they cede the floor, however reluctantly, to the charms of others. The many facets—some brilliant, some dull—of a lump of quartz. The dew-beaded web of a tiny spider. The pastel petals of henbit deadnettle, graced by a wandering honeybee. The surge of something resembling strength and wonder in your belly. The world is full of treasures worthy of both notice and protection.




*Skennen’kó:wa is the Kanien’kéha (Mohawk) word for “great peace.” I had been studying the language during this particular year’s pilgrimage to see the Virginia bluebells, and the symmetry between this word and “Shenandoah” was unmistakable. Although it is unclear whether the two words are, in fact, related, it has been theorized that “Shenandoah” comes from the same (Iroquoian) language family.