The Secret Life of Woodland Plants: Jack-in-the-Pulpit Insights

In the hush of the forest, Jack-in-the-Pulpit speaks—not with sound, but with form and patience, reminding us that some sermons rise quietly from the earth.

MichaelStephenWills

You could walk past it a hundred times and never notice. There, beneath the low canopy of midsummer, where light is sifted through green, Arisaema triphyllum stands with the discretion of a shadow. Jack-in-the-Pulpit, they call it—a name as strange and gentle as the plant itself. But neither common name nor scientific binomial quite captures the feeling that you are being addressed when you encounter one.

A young Jack-in-the-pulpit under its leaf canopy along the gorge trail of Filmore Glen.

A mature Jack-in-the=pulpit flower with purple trillium, Fillmore Glen.

Earlier in the year, it raised a hooded spathe above the forest floor, curving protectively over a pale central spadix—the “Jack.” It looked like a figure delivering a sermon to the moss and littered leaves. Now, that sermon has passed, and the speaker has fallen silent. What remains is a column of tight green berries, glinting softly in the dappled light. They are not yet ripe, but the promise is there. In time, they will glow red like embers in the undergrowth.

Summertime, Sapsucker Woods. I might use a colloquialism and call this plant a “Jill”….and the real twist? Jack might’ve started out giving sermons but give them a good season and a strong root system, and Jack becomes Jill. It’s sequential hermaphroditism at its finest—Mother Nature’s version of career flexibility.

There is something ancient about this plant, as if it remembers a forest before our footsteps came. Its roots delve deep, not just into the soil, but into time. A corm, nestled beneath the leaf mold, waits out the harsh seasons, unseen but enduring. It is not a showy plant. It is a plant that trusts quiet. That survives on patience.

A closer look at the unripe berries.

The forest is full of these secret lives—beings that do not shout to be known. Jack-in-the-Pulpit speaks softly, in a dialect of leaf and shade and seasonal return. It is a plant you find when you have slowed down enough to belong again to the forest’s rhythm, when you’ve traded the voice in your head for the breath of leaf litter underfoot.

From Fillmore Glen

Some would call it just another spring ephemeral, a curiosity among many. But to walk away from it without feeling a kind of reverence would be to miss the point. It is not there to impress. It is there to remind.

That not all things are revealed at once.
That sermons come in many forms.
And that in the hush of the forest, something is always speaking—if only we remember how to listen.

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19 thoughts on “The Secret Life of Woodland Plants: Jack-in-the-Pulpit Insights”

  2. So much of this reads like a poem, Michael, especially the last few lines! Great closeups of this lovely plant/flower too!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much, Lynne! That means a great deal—especially coming from you. There’s something about Jack-in-the-Pulpit that invites a more lyrical approach, don’t you think? I’m so glad the closeups resonated too; it’s a plant that rewards a closer look. Always a pleasure to hear your thoughts!

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  3. Reads like a poem, Michael, especially the last few lines! And great close ups of this lovely plant/flower!

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      1. No problem. The approval delay presented differently – it literally erased my comment when I went to send it rather than stating that approval was pending. Technology eh!

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  8. Hello Michael,
    Thank you for allowing us to join you on this walk, and get a glimpse into the wonders in the forest that often escapes notice. I can almost feel a hushed, sacred atmosphere… I wonder, what would “Jack” and “Jill” say, if they could speak to us, and describe their observations of our species.

    It must be beautiful in your town. We hope you, your wife and all your families continue to have a wonderful summer. Please give our regards to your grandsons ☺️

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hello Takami,

      Your words capture the spirit of that walk so beautifully—thank you. It truly is a gift to wander through these quiet places and notice what’s often overlooked. Summer here has been kind, and we’re making the most of it—your kind regards will be passed along to the grandsons, who are enjoying their own outdoor adventures. I hope the season is treating you and yours just as warmly.

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