My Way of Living + travel

Flown the coop:
We’ve flown the coop, well actually we did fly the coop, and now we are back. And yes I did see some chickens, but I don’t have any photos. I also saw lots of cows, some eagles. And a poor deer that didn’t survive it’s quick dash across the road. It was a fast trip up to the Okanagan to visit with family, and check out the luscious asparagus from my sister’s farm, her blog is here, Okanagan Asparagus Farm. But it was too cold for those tender, and delicious little spears to peek up from the soil yet. We never seem to get it right, always too early, or too late… A time lapse: Coming back down from the high mountain pass, through to the Chilliwack valley, was like seeing a very fast time lapse of spring happening right before your eyes. During the time that it took to travel from the highest point of the Coquihalla Hwy to White Rock, we saw the branches changing subtly. From bare black stems silhouetted against the blue sky, to fresh green shoots hanging like earrings from trees, and dense green undergrowth that is missing in the Okanagan. It was both alarming, and beautiful at the same time. Beautiful, because spring is definitely coming, although it’s late, and alarming because I was worried that I would miss it in my garden. Like any gardener, I wait all year for those moments, when the ferns unfurl, and the hosta’s stretch out their leaves to grow. Late spring/cold spring: But there is no chance of that happening soon. T he funny thing is, although our leaves are usually out much earlier, it was greener and lusher out towards the bottom of the mountain ranges at the base of the Coquihalla hiway, a two hour drive from the ocean, then it was here. As we progressed towards White Rock, spring seems to have rewound it’s self back a few days. Gone are the green spears of grass growing, branches still bare, with only the smallest touches of green tips. Unlike the golden masses of cottonwood trees on the Hi-way, that graced the river bed. Clouds of golden new leaves etched on the banks of the churning river. No real change: When we got home, nothing had changed, spring has not come to wave a magic wand, the trees are still unresponsive. The hosta’s undisturbed in their sleeping dirt, only a smidge higher, the beautiful gingko tree on my patio, just barely tufted with green promise. I didn’t miss the change over after all. So I wonder, if it were not so far, would I decide to go back to that golden river banking, and fly among the cottonwoods shimmering leaves. Or would I choose to wait here patiently for spring to arrive, and not take the chance of missing anything?