"Our Great-Aunt Narcissa ... knew the names of all the wild flowers and she taught the names of them all to us — the small blue anemone that bloomed in ravines in February, the first of our blossoms and the purest blue, the flower of faith, of new hope; the bloodroot, the May apple, the wild yellow azalea, the corpse flower, the trailing arbutus, the purple gentian — the last blossoms of the autumn, struggling to perfection in the last minutes of existence." — Ben Robertson, Red Hills and Cotton