Have you smelled spring yet? That rich fertile aroma of the wet, warming earth blended with the budding of new sprigs? So far, it seems to be a chilly spring with a bite to the air, and it鈥檚 blustery!
Although brisk, it鈥檚 a fine time to bundle up and embark on a spring walk or hike and take in the delicate spring wildflowers that will soon cover the rocky slopes amid the wet mosses.
Rocky precipices of dusty pink sea blush will soon be seen through the wet mossy hills. Trilliums will poke up through the woodland leaf debris, grassy meadows and clearings under the windswept Garry oaks will be covered in camas and the elegant wild red currant will be lurking within the forest and along the trails.
If you鈥檇 like to see chocolate lilies, amble along the Cowichan River footpath.
It鈥檚 a good time to pick up a little 颅reference book, such as Popular 颅Wildflowers of Coastal British Columbia and 颅Vancouver Island by Neil L. Jennings (2020, Rocky Mountain Books Ltd.), or one of the 颅ever-popular walking and hiking guides, including Walk Victoria by John Crouch (2009) or his revised Hike Victoria (2017) with over 60 suggested hikes.
Bear Hill in Saanich is an excellent 颅little hike and will have your heart pumping. There are many beautiful spots to sit and rest on the way up 鈥� hiking should not be rushed. It鈥檚 also rocky and wet, but worth it for the marvellous view at the top, as you sit on a cool stone slab surrounded by lush little succulents and ferns and gaze over the islands in the often murky blue-hazed Strait, the ploughed tawny patterns of the Saanich farmlands and the dark green Malahat.
Rithet鈥檚 Bog, a fascinating ecosystem of saturated decaying plant life and an 颅abundance of birds, and with a social history worth noting, is one of my favorite strolls, and it鈥檚 flat!
When your day of fresh air and 颅admiration for Mother Nature鈥檚 spring bounty comes to an end, you may want to unwind with a recently published little book titled One Good Thing, a living memoir by local author M.A.C. Farrant (2021, Talon Books).
The book consists of 64 颅ponderings, reflections, memories, 颅questions (most with no answers, as if the author is working things out), and meditations, little talks to oneself, really 鈥� some melancholic, some quirky, and all written as letters to sa国际传媒 garden columnist Helen Chesnut.
Raking leaves, planting daffodil bulbs and watching a little hummingbird are all 颅juxtaposed (I seldom use this word but it works for this little book) with the bigger global picture.
The author has a cellphone, full of 颅useless gadgets and jargon that can like, delete, block, byte, browse and augment reality (that last one I added, I should note).
As she sits with her phone and marvels over a hummingbird, she is caught between nature and technology, intuitively resisting taking a photograph of the sweet little bird, as if the phone is an interruption that will pierce the beauty of the moment, and then she asks herself: 鈥淲hat would Helen do?鈥�
Although the author鈥檚 thoughts are at times delightfully complex, they are very readable 鈥� a complex thought written from the heart. Sometimes her thoughts are quirky, though, such as her observations on the 55 Plus section of the newspaper. She quotes: 鈥淚f you want information on your golden years, ask your pharmacist. They鈥檙e here to help.鈥� Quirky, but sad.
Personally, I think the insert should start at 75 years old 鈥� at 55, I could still leap onto my horse at a gallop (now, 10 years on, I can still leap upon the horse, but he stands still).
And here鈥檚 something quirky for you, M.A.C. 鈥� my horse drove a nail through his hoof and the veterinarian used a diaper (size four) and duct tape to cover the wound.
But here is what the book is really about in my view: how one thought leads to another, creating a wonderful travelling chain of woven drifting images that carry us from moment to moment. It鈥檚 what makes us human.
Some days, there鈥檚 knee pain to think about, some days a sudden invigorating 颅joyful moment of awe, maybe to marvel over a determined plucky weed and then pull it out (poor weed!), and on and on it goes toward that big compost heap, that 颅wonderful rich and fertile warm maternal heap, steaming and ready to spread itself on the earth to help the new seedlings grow and begin life anew.
(I must ask Helen about the layering 鈥� is it brown, green, brown, green, or green, brown, green, brown? Wise Helen鈥檚 advice will set the world right, or at least help us work it all out.)
