The place I live in is very, very wet much of the year. There are some fearful, ignorant people here. There isn't a roaring nightlife.
But there is this: When the sun comes out, you walk out blinking your eyes, amazed at the beauty. Spring here comes just in the nick of time. Winters aren't Minnesota cold, but they are stuckinthebasementdarkcolddamp. Grey. Wet.
And they seem to go. on. for. ever.
So it's like Mother Nature throws you a lifeline when you see first the heather, then the crocus, then the tulip. By the time the dogwood blooms and the lilacs, people are out of their minds digging in the dirt filled with hope for summer tomatoes, and the promise of roses.
On my way to the recycling center, a place I'd never been, I found myself driving an old road, driving past industry, hitting some farmland, then when I pulled into the drive that would take me to my destination, I saw a deer - grown, but still spotted, dancing across a field. I saw a heron bigger than a pelican flying low over the wetland, and when I came racing back to my house to grab the boy so we could go out on that road together, a bald eagle flew over my house.
So I packed us up and away we went. We drove out to a local lake and discovered more beauty, and fantastic views of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood. It was breathtaking. There were all kinds of people there - it was like Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grand Jatte.
There was a crew regatta, and kids playing, and couples, and friends, and families. There was laughing and squabbling and yelling (some of it by my son who insisted on playing Indiana Jones as he runs from the natives screaming "START THE PLANE!"), and it was so nice to be a part of it, and to have my camera.
You can check out some of the photos on Flickr, but here are just a couple:
So, yeah. Hello Spring. So glad you're here.
Gift Guide 2017
2 weeks ago