To Alaskans, fireweed is more than just one of the most recognizable parts of our landscape, a pioneer plant, one of the first bits of life to return to a glacier-scarred landscape or to revegetate a land ravaged by forest fire. It's also a warning of how much time you have left before winter hits. See, the blossoms start at the bottom of the stalk and work their way up as the summer progresses, and once they've reached the top you've got a scant six weeks until winter.
Though termination dust, the harsh harbinger of the coming of winter that I noticed last year has yet to appear, the fireweed is about spent. There are a few plants scattered about that still have a few blossoms stubbornly affixed to the top, but most have gone to seed and others' leaves have turned a bright, fiery red. Many of us have started lamenting this unfortunate fact, as though by culturing some fireweed in a greenhouse whose blossoms have just burst open at the bottom of the stalk we could buy more time.
So, in lieu of turning back the clock or vainly wishing for summer to last forever, I present this photo taken in mid-July, when the fireweed was still telling a more hopeful story.
