The Meadow’s Palimpsest 
every hill-top in Europe was ablaze with bonfires in honor 
of John the Baptist, and when the herb was gathered 
and woven into garlands—very efficacious, it was thought, 
in warding off the machinations of the devil and witches. 
Each tinv blue flower of the speedwell that is blooming in 
our meadows to-day was in the eyes of our sixteenth and 
seventeenth-century ancestors the miniature versimilitude 
of St. Veronica’s handkerchief, whereon, the legend ran, 
Christ on His way to Calvary wiped His face in agony 
and left the impress of His features. 
But you do not need to be a student of plant history 
to enter into the joy of a June roadside. This is the 
month when the wild roses swing their censers of incense 
in almost every fence row and meadow; when clover 
is abloom, and banks are red with the ripened fruit of 
wild strawberries, as fragrant as they are luscious to the 
taste. No less characteristic of June are the bunched 
blossoms of the wild grape, whose delicious perfume is 
one of the rare delights of the year. There are three 
native species of this cherished vine common in our neigh¬ 
borhood, probably the most familiar being the little chicken 
grape, whose black berries, ripe in November and about 
the size of peas, are principally composed of stones and 
acidity. They would mix quite harmoniously with the 
snaps and snails and puppy dogs’ tails, which, according 
to the nursery rhyme, are the component parts in the 
make-up of small boys. The so-called summer grape 
bears berries about twice as large as the chicken grape, 
is mature in September or October and is of a pleasanter 
flavor. More valuable than either of those, however, is 
[59] 
