Wild azalea

Towards the end of May, I start searching the wetter areas of the woods and the wooded swamps for the spectacular pink blossoms of the wild Azalea. There are two species in our area, the early one, known to botanists as Rhododendron roseum, and a somewhat later one, Rhododendron nudiflorum. They're separable in several easy ways, the quickest of which is to smell the flowers: Roseum's scent will knock your socks off; Nudiflorum is lightly scented. Then there's timing, with Roseum sending forth its floral display in advance of opening its leaves, while Nudiflorum puts forth flowers and foliage at the same time. Nudiflorum has longer and showier pistils and stamens than its cousin, and then there's that nude stuff, which refers to the wooliness of the buds, twigs, and underside of the leaves, a trait exhibited by Roseum but relatively absent in Nudiflorum. This one, therefore, is R. nudiflorum, which, I just learned, is now called Rhododendron periclymenoides. I'll need to determine the reasons for the change, and I'll have to rejigger my botanical memory banks accordingly. Maybe the taxonomists were having trouble with nudity. By whatever Latin name, the Pinxter Flower—my favorite common name comes from the Dutch term Pinxter blomachee which, freely translated, means "blossoming on the Pentecost"—is definitely a May highlight to chronicle and treasure.