John Lewis Russell’s Spring Letter: A Botanist’s Affection for Nature and Nephew
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
February 23, 1863
Dearest reader,
On this day, John Lewis Russell—botanist, Unitarian minister, and cherished friend of both Thoreau and Emerson—sent a letter overflowing with compassion and reverence for nature to his adult nephew.
Russell, known for his expertise in lichens and cryptograms (those shadowy citizens of the plant world), was every inch a man of wisdom and charm. Even the mighty Boletellus russelli fungus bears his name, a small but enduring tribute to his botanical devotion.
His graceful words paint a picture of a spring in waiting:
“When this reaches you, spring will have commenced, and March winds... will have awakened some of the sleeping flowers of the western prairies, while we shall be still among the snow-drifts of [the] tardy departing winter.”
Isn’t it something to imagine two kinsmen separated by both distance and season—one watching new blooms stir from winter’s dream, the other lingering among icy drifts?
Ever the gentle wit, Russell confesses,
“As I have not learned to fly yet, I shall not be able to ramble with you after the pasque flower (‘pask’), or anemone, nor find the Erythronium albidum ('er-rith-THRONE-ee-um AL-bah-dum'), nor the tiny spring beauty, nor detect the minute green mosses which will so soon be rising out of the ground.”
Instead, he settles by the Stewart’s Coal Burner, nourishing his heart with cherished memories:
“I can sit by the Stewart’s Coal Burner in our sitting room and... recall the days when ... when we gathered Andromeda buds from the frozen bushes and traversed the ice-covered bay securely in the bright sunshine of the winter’s day.”
What gardener hasn’t pined for the open field during dormant months, while kindling hope beside a warm fire?
Can you recall memories, as Russell does, where ice and sunshine mingle and the world feels at once sleepy and expectant?
Touchingly, Russell closes with gentle simplicity,
“I will not trouble you to write to me, but I should like a spring flower which you gather; anyone will be precious from you to your feeble and sick Old uncle and friend, J.L.R.”
How might a single bloom serve as a token of love and hope across the divides of age, health, and season?
Russell’s request reminds us of the simple gifts gardens offer, and the enduring bonds they nurture.
