Ep 253 - Healing Beneath Mayapple: Skunk Cabbage Wisdom

Mary Stone shares reflections from a deeply meaningful weekend serving as a Big Buddy at Comfort Zone Camp for children grieving the loss of a parent or sibling to suicide. 

Through stories of Mayapple, Skunk Cabbage, Barred Owls, Nesting Birds, and an unforgettable Black Bear encounter near the creek, this episode explores Healing, Resilience, Emotional Courage, and the Wisdom Waiting Beneath the Surface of the Natural World. 

Along the way, Mary revisits earlier podcast stories about Mayapple folklore, Ken Roberts' beautiful song Mandrakes, and the remarkable lessons hidden within even the most unusual woodland plants. 

Link to Companion Blog Post: Healing Beneath the Mayapple

Previous Related Podcasts & Posts 

Ep 252. Edible vs. Ornamental Rhubarb — Kindness Helps Heal

Episode 31: Comedy of Crickets, Mayapple of My Eye  (Featuring Ken Roberts' song: Mandrakes)

Previous blog posts: Mayapple of my Eye

Rhubarb Edible vs. Ornamental— Kindness Helps Heal 

Thanks for listening and sharing in the Garden of Life. 🌻

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I'd love to hear your garden and nature stories, as well as your thoughts on topics for future podcast episodes. You can email me at AskMaryStone@gmail.com.   

You can follow Garden Dilemmas on Facebook and Instagram #MaryElaineStone.

You can also listen on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and your favorite podcast app.

Thank you for sharing the Garden of Life,
  Mary Stone
Columnist & Garden Designer

 8888

I'd love to hear your garden and nature stories, as well as your thoughts on topics for future podcast episodes. You can email me at AskMaryStone@gmail.com.   

You can follow Garden Dilemmas on Facebook and Instagram #MaryElaineStone.

You can also listen on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and your favorite podcast app.

Thank you for sharing the Garden of Life,
 Mary Stone
Columnist & Garden Designer

More about the Podcast and Column:

 Welcome to Garden Dilemmas, Delights, and Discoveries.

 It's not only about gardens; it's about nature's inspirations, about grasping the glories of the world around us, gathering what we learned from Mother Nature, and carrying these lessons into our garden of life. So, let's jump in, in the spirit of learning from each other. We have lots to talk about.

Thanks for tuning in, Mary Stone 
Garden Dilemmas? AskMaryStone.com
Direct Link to Podcast Page

Transcript

Ep 253  Healing Beneath the Mayapple: Skunk Cabbage Wisdom 

Sat, May 23, 2026 8:13PM • 19:19

SUMMARY KEYWORDS

Garden Dilemmas, nature inspirations, barred owl, Comfort Zone camp, healing, resilience, may apple, Podophyllum peltatum, Minnie Curtis Waite, emotional healing, grief, mental illness, suicide, black bear, skunk cabbage.

SPEAKERS

Mary Stone

Mary Stone  00:00

Hello, fellow lovers of all things green. I'm Mary Stone, and welcome to Garden Dilemmas, Delights, and Discoveries. It's not only about gardens, it's about nature's inspirations, about grasping the glories of the world around us, gathering what we learn from Mother Nature, and carrying these lessons into our garden of life. So, let's jump in, in the spirit of learning from each other, we have lots to talk about. 

Mary Stone  00:25

Hello, there. It's Mary Stone. On a chilly, drizzly spring afternoon, actually, the skies are clearing now. We were above 90 degrees for a few days, and it gifted us the opportunity to sleep on the screen porch, where we are now. Jolie and I. I absolutely love sleeping out here. And last night, just as I was settling in, I heard a barred owl call from the woods beyond the creek. Then another answered further off, which warmed my heart. You see, early in April, I found the remains of a barred owl. The feathers were strewn all over. I didn't know what it was at first. Jolie was the first to come upon it, actually, and sure enough, it was the remains of a barred owl. It made my heart so heavy. And then, for nights on end, I'd hear one of them call, and there was no answer back. I asked my birder buddy, Dennis, about whether they mate for life, and what happens if one is gone, and he told me that if one dies or disappears, their surviving owl will seek a new mate, and that hits close to home, as many of you know, if you've tuned into recent episodes. Indeed, after endings come new beginnings. There was always hope to find a new life partner. 

Mary Stone  01:40

Indeed, hearing their voices carry through the darkness felt like a conversation between old souls. Last night, while I was lying there between the futon covers, listening to the night sounds, and feeling the cool air after the heat wave. Nature is always speaking. If we slow down enough to listen. 

Mary Stone  02:02

Speaking of camp, I am just back from Comfort Zone Camp. I missed you last week, but I had a heart-filled and emotional weekend serving as a big buddy to a child, attending with 55 other young people, grieving the loss of a parent or sibling to suicide. It was rewarding and exhausting, heartbreaking and hopeful, and deeply meaningful, seeing the transitions of these teenagers who have such courage in facing their grief today. I thought we'd get caught up on sharing two stories recently submitted to the press, for whom I write. Though they began as separate reflections, they speak to one another in unexpected ways, in themes of healing, resilience, nature, and the wisdom hidden beneath things we might otherwise overlook. And it starts like this. 

Mary Stone  02:54

Hello, fellow lovers of all things green. A few weeks ago, we spoke about rhubarb, edible versus ornamental, and how kindness helps heal. I shared how dear friends offered to care for Jolie, while I served as a big buddy to a child at the annual Comfort Zone camp for children grieving the loss of a loved one to suicide. I've just returned from the weekend, deeply grateful for the experience, and Jolie was well cared for, greeting me home with joyful enthusiasm. Susan and Don, the loving friends who watched her, told me she refused to take a road walk while I was away. Each time they tried to walk her, she would put on the brakes. It brought me back to Jolie's earliest days after adoption. You may recall her story. Jolie came from Mississippi, rescued from a kill shelter. I'm calling it a shelter. It was really a god-forsaken place that was a run-down barn or still is, I believe. And a grassroots organization grabs the dogs from there and gets them placed, such angels to do so. 

Mary Stone  04:01

When she first arrived, fear filled her spirit. On walks, Jolie would stop every few feet, uncertain and afraid. I'd carry her a short distance before setting her back down slowly. After many weeks, she would walk further on her own, gathering courage with each step. Healing often happens that way.

Mary Stone  04:22

 Do you hear that call? That is a cardinal, I believe. I have another cardinal's nest hidden high above a viburnum outside the screen porch. So many birds' nests. I love the miracle of it all. 

Mary Stone  04:36

At camp, while walking with our healing circle group, my little buddy came upon a patch of mayapple growing beside the trail. This is my third year being her big buddy, and I learned she had taken up gardening. So, I asked if she knew the plant, and she had never met a mayapple before. May apple, the botanical name is Podophyllum peltatum, is one of my favorite native woodland. Plants this time of year line shady paths like green umbrellas unfurling across the forest floor. Hidden beneath those umbrella-like leaves are delicate, waxy white flowers you only notice if you slow down enough to look underneath. That's part of their charm. A poem by Minnie Curtis Waite in 1901 describes them as a host of green umbrellas that might shelter fairy people from sudden showers. I love that image. Even the name May Apple is endearing, reminding me of the old-time expression of the apple of my eye, something precious and dearly adored. When I explained the meaning to my little buddy, she smiled and announced that she now has a boyfriend, such young love. 

Mary Stone  05:50

The may apple also carries a lesson, though charming, much of the plant is toxic, yet hidden beneath the leaves are beauty, usefulness, and eventually fruit. It reminded me of how healing and hardship grow side by side in the garden of life. The volunteer therapist and leader of our healing circle shared an analogy. His name was Dan, by the way, and he was phenomenal with the kids. I will never forget this analogy. He spoke of the emotions we carry through life: grief, trauma, anger, and heartbreak. We sometimes bury while convincing others that we're fine. He compared those unspoken feelings to air building inside a balloon. Eventually, if ignored, the pressure becomes too much, and it bursts. But healing can begin slowly, letting the air out, gradually, carefully, one conversation, one memory, one truthful moment at a time. As he spoke, tears softly welled in my eyes as I recognized how easily we can carry such balloons without fully realizing it. I suspect many of us do.

Mary Stone  07:02

The memorial service, which concludes each comfort zone camp, is a celebration of love and remembrance rather than sorrow. Our group was called the Grasshoppers. One by one, each child stood before the crowd and shared what they had learned about suicide during the weekend. It's complicated, one child said. Another explained that mental illness is often involved, and perhaps most heartbreakingly wise of all. A person doesn't want to die; they just can't handle the pain anymore, one child said. Then two campers simultaneously blurted out, "Suicide sucks," drawing laughter, tears, and heartfelt applause from nearly everyone in the audience. Indeed, it does, as does silence, fear, and carrying pain alone. 

Mary Stone  07:54

Perhaps that's why healing, like the shy flower hidden beneath the may apple leaf, often begins when someone feels safe enough to finally be seen. Garden Dilemmas? Ask Mary Stone.com.

Mary Stone  08:10

 I want to bounce back to an early Episode 31 the Comedy of Crickets, May Apple of My Eye, when we first spoke about the May Apple, and there is a story about a dear friend and fellow Karen Anne Quinlan hospice volunteer. I talk about him often, Ken Roberts, who wrote and performed a magical song titled Mandrakes, another name for May Apple, based on the poem by Minnie Curtis Waite. I encourage you to tune into it. I will include a link in the show notes so you can hear him sing the song. I just love the warm and fuzziness of his voice. 

Mary Stone  08:45

The camp brought another woodland plant to mind as well, and I decided, since I missed our visit last week, we're going to have a double header, so to speak. One of the important reminders for campers is never to keep food inside the cabin, because, as you might imagine, woodland creatures have excellent noses. Concern for bears especially made an impression on many of the kids. It reminded me of a story I shared long ago on a podcast about a visiting juvenile black bear whose mother had been feasting on a patch of skunk cabbage near the creek where I live. I still had Ellie then, so I thought we'd tune into the story again. 

Mary Stone  09:24

Before I go on to that, I have to share this story about Black Bear and their visit to our patch of stunt cabbage near the brook. I think it was last year, I'm pretty sure it was. I, yes, it was, because I had my big girl camera, so I was in the screen porch, and I saw, or I should say, I heard the rustle of a large animal. So, I looked beyond the screen, and below the screen was a young bear. Now, it wasn't a brand-new cub, it probably was about a year old, but it was crying for its mama, who was down by the boggy area eating the skunk cabbage. So, I witnessed it firsthand. And the mama was eating the skunk cabbage, so I went inside. I got my big girl camera, it happened to have the telephoto lens on it, and I grabbed some shots. They're not the best shots, because I was shooting it through the screens, but still, it was worthy of the fun of looking close at the bear. So, as I was doing this, Ellie came out to the porch, and of course she put her paws up on the edge of the wall here, and that was really funny, because the young bear just looked at me, and the eyes, I mean, literally, I was within five feet of him or her, and her eyes, or his eyes, were just so remarkable, and I just said, whispered, "Your mama is down there." It was almost like I'm just going to call her a she. It was almost like she was looking for her mama. Your mama's right there, everything's okay. And at that point, the bear stops and then runs and climbs a tree. The mama heard the ruckus and came literally rumbling up the hill, not at a huge speed, but certainly, you know concern for her young one, and at that point I kind of stood away from the screen and just watched, and I watched this remarkable protection that the mother just instinctively took over. She just walked around the whole periphery of the house to see what it was that caused her baby to climb up the tree. So it was a beautiful moment. I was so excited about it.

Mary Stone  11:20

 I've shared this with friends, and they said, "Weren’t you afraid? I'm like, "No, I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of bears. They are very, very. Oh, I don't know, I would say docile animals in the sense, but of course, you don't ever want to be between the mother and cub. But I felt protected amongst the screens, or behind the screens, I should say. So, anyway, that was a beautiful moment indeed. 

Mary Stone  11:42

Skunk cabbage is another fascinating native plant that asks us to reconsider first impressions, and it starts like this. Hello, fellow lovers of all things green. You may recall my mention that rhubarb contains oxalic acid, the leaves, that is, which is toxic to both deer and humans. Skunk cabbage shares rhubarb's common thread of toxic leaves, along with other fascinating spring woodland traits. Legend has it that black bears emerge from hibernation when skunk cabbage begins to sprout. I assume the correlation was that bears eat skunk cabbage. It turns out they do, but only in early spring, before there are better things to nosh on. Black bears eat just about anything when rousing from hibernation and will look beyond the burning sensation caused by the oxalic acid in skunk cabbage. 

Mary Stone  12:35

Long before most perennials dare to poke through the cold soil, skunk cabbage emerges with mottled hoodlike flowers that resemble something between a woodland seashell and a strange creature from another era, long before most perennials dare poke through the cold soil. Skunk cabbage emerges with mottled hoodlike flowers that resemble something between a woodland seashell and a strange creature from another era. And then there's the scent, bruise a leaf or lean in close, and the plant releases the most unmistakable odor that gives it its memorable common name.

Mary Stone  13:11

But I'm not the only one who admires how skunk cabbage carpet stream banks and low-lying woodland floors before the surrounding tree leaves emerge. Brian of Washington Township, New Jersey, asked if he could use it in the garden. I've often thought that it would make an excellent option in place of hosta, deer candy, as most of you know. Unlike Hosta, however, skunk cabbage grows in swampy, often stagnant water, so the cultural environments are quite different. Still, in a boggy garden, skunk cabbage certainly has its appeal. As the summer unfolds, the leaves yellow and begin to droop, beginning their journey back to dormancy well before the close of the growing season. So, therefore, it may not be such a great garden plant. Plus, it would be tough to dig them up because skunk cabbage's roots grow deeper with age, making older plants practically impossible to transplant. I've never seen them sold in a nursery, either. 

Mary Stone  14:12

Inevitably, as the common name denotes, its smell can be offensive, especially if cut by a weed whacker or stepped on. Yet walking by a field of skunk cabbage carries only a slight musty smell beyond the flower itself. It's fascinating how early pollinators find the flower appealing, even though it smells much like a dead animal. So, like most things, it's a matter of taste. 

Mary Stone  14:37

Year after year, I find myself delighted to see the skunk cabbage return, perhaps because it asks us to reconsider what we define as beautiful or valuable. The botanical name for a skunk cabbage is Simplocarpus foititis, and it's native to wetlands throughout the Northeast, and is one of the earliest signs that winter is loosening its grip. Even more fascinating, the plant actually generates heat through a remarkable process called thermogenesis. It can warm itself enough to melt surrounding snow and frozen ground, allowing it to emerge when little else can. Imagine that for a moment, a plant so determined to fulfill its purpose that it creates its own warmth against the cold. 

Mary Stone  15:25

Over the years, I've come to appreciate that gardens are not merely collections of pretty plants, they are living communities where each plant has a role to play, even the awkward, misunderstood, or less desirable ones. Skunk cabbage helps stabilize wet soil and provides one of the earliest food sources for emerging insects and bear its massive leaves, which unfurl in spring shade and cool woodland stream banks. It belongs exactly where it grows. Mother Nature knows what she is doing, so if you happen upon skunk cabbage during a spring walk and instinctively wrinkle your nose, perhaps pause for a moment longer. Beneath its peculiar appearance lies one of nature's earliest and most determined signs of renewal. Much like life itself, the most meaningful growth often begins under challenging conditions. Garden Dilemmas, AskMaryStone.com 

Mary Stone  16:28

So, as I think about Comfort Zone Camp and other things that I involve myself in, and I know you're involved in many things too, and it doesn't have to be organized when you help other people, it can be just going about your daily life. We wonder why it feels so good to help others. Don't you ever think about that? And I was thinking maybe because, deep inside, we recognize what a miracle life truly is, whether you call it God, source spirit, or simply the wonder of existence itself. Something is humbling about participating in life with open heartedness rather than merely moving through routines and responsibilities, so many people spend their days tending to obligations that may not fill their soul, yet fulfillment often arrives through the smallest of moments, such as gardening and walking in the woods, and helping others feel less alone, witnessing a flower unfurl, or staying still long enough to hear barred owls calling through the trees. 

Mary Stone  17:30

Right now, just outside the side garage door, a robin is tending to a nest with three eggs waiting to hatch. Only a few feet away, tucked into another shrub across the walkway, a mourning dove sits patiently on her own nest. I cherish these moments of life continuing forward in the amazing beauty of it all. Perhaps that's what gardens and nature remind us of best. We are here to cherish the beauty and the miracles, and to participate in them by lending a helping hand. So, thank you for visiting with me each week. I always appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed this double header. 

Mary Stone  18:15

I was very tired when I came home, yet so full, and I hope you take the time to take care of yourself when you have moments like that. Step aside, sit quietly, watch nature around you, and take in all the wisdom that comes from the patterns and rhythms that continue from season to season. Because you see, the cycle of life never ends or dies, it continues the Garden of Life is indeed a miraculous cycle. Enjoy the beautiful day. 

Mary Stone  18:49

You can follow Garden Dilemmas on Facebook or online at GardenDilemmas.com and on Instagram at the hashtag Mary Elaine Stone. Garden Dilemmas: Delights and Discoveries is produced by Alex Bartling. Thanks for coming by. I look forward to chatting again from my screen porch. And always remember to embrace the unexpected in this garden of life. Have a great day.