Spring

“A flower blossoms for its own joy.”

Oscar Wilde

One Easter weekend, when I lived in Calgary, I took my camera up onto Nose Hill, a designated urban park- a natural preserve of rolling hills, prairie grasses and plants. Coulees, stands of trembling aspen, birch, pussy willows, sage brush and wolf willow its attractions. A place to wander and explore within walking distance of my home.

On this particular day I was interested in the emerging prairie crocus, nudging its tender stems into the cool brisk winds blowing off of the western mountain ranges. In the late afternoon light the purples and blues of the crocus blooms were lit through with a stunning transparency. The tiny hairs of their stems individually highlighted, as though painstakingly outlined with a white artist’s pen. I could not get enough of these wonders, large clusters of them, nodding in the wind.

Sometimes hidden in dry prairie grasses lying brittle and unkempt after a long winter of frost and snowdrifts, sometimes mingled alongside the reddish pussy willow bushes, low to the ground and protected, even in stone strewn hills, clusters of fragile crocus petals could be seen in every direction.

When life’s circumstances and experiences bring us down in spirit, energy, or sense of purpose and meaning, we can sometimes be helped along by looking at what is around us in nature. The crocus is at once both fragile and hardy. It is resilient. In this time of spring, burdened by the knowns and unknowns of Covid19 I will be reminded of my walk along the hilly Nose Hill terrain one spring evening, a time where I enjoyed a spring spectacle and felt the beginnings of new hope take root in my spirit.

Delight

“Every object, every being, is a jar full of delight”.

- Rumi

More than twenty years ago I decided to gather all loose snapshots I had taken and bring some semblance of order to them. In short order I found myself surrounded by hundreds of pictures, eventually overflowing the dining room table, into piles around my feet. For several days I immersed myself in setting memories into chronological order, each album telling a story of our family life, places travelled, special events, and loved faces.

On a visit to the Queen Charlotte Islands one summer we spent several days in the North Beach area of Graham Island, an island steeped in history, culture and art. We were interested in all of these things but found ourselves drawn to the oceanside, the windswept beach and the pounding surf near what is known to the locals as Tow Hill-a 400 foot perpendicular cliff of columnar basalt. As well we were hoping to find the Blow Hole, a natural channel in the basalt, where when tide and waves cooperate, salt water shoots upward with impressive force and sound. 

Our first day we clambered about the black, pocked rocks below Tow Hill. The sea was calm, the sky grey with a light mist falling. The next day with the sun shining and a stiff wind blowing we again found ourselves at the foot of the hill exploring tide pools to which clung orange and maroon starfish. So engrossed were we in this exploration at our feet, the first spray of water through the blowhole caught us by surprise! There was no mistaking it’s location now!

With the rising tide and strong winds, the sea began to cascade and crash through the opening in the rock with huge heaves of sound. Steel blue salty seawater turned white and foamy, spraying in huge arcs before us, carried off by the wind, creating a rhythmic sequence of sound and spray. Sometimes the force of it lifted large chunks of bull kelp and small globs of clear jellyfish high into the air. We were mesmerized and entranced. There were loud shouts from the children, broad smiles and laughing; each spray a spectacular exclamation of nature’s beauty and delight!

Birding

One of the gifts and joys of my summer of 2005 was an introduction to birding. I discovered another world of beauty previously hidden from my consciousness. I had recently moved to Winnipeg from the west. While attending a fiftieth birthday party of a friend I met a birder. I went to London Drugs and purchased binoculars. I traveled dusty, country roads around the province searching the skies, upper branches of trees, dense shrubs, boggy marshes, windy lakes and arid fields in search of birds. My children raised their eyebrows and wondered what had happened to me.

I kind of wondered the same thing. My camera stayed in its bag. I looked through the binocular’s sharp lens and saw the tiniest movements, flitting reds, yellows, blues, greens of bird feathers, a phenomena that amazes me still. I experienced many moment’s of delight and pleasure. I learned how satisfying it was to stay in the moment, savouring. Not unlike my passion for landscape photography, the world of birding opened up another level of discovery for me. My eyes saw a thousand pictures, hidden landscapes, elusive terrain, stunning in the tiniest details.

In the company of others or alone, the search to find that elusive bird as well as those more common requires sharp observational skills, understanding of bird behaviour and habitat, songs, sounds and flight patterns.  I was on a steep learning curve! It was, honestly, exhausting! Fortunately, as a “fledgling” birder, I found the Manitoba birding community to be friendly, open, helpful and supportive. I learned that Manitoba is a hotspot for birding!

Vancouver Island, May 2019

This photo of lichen growing on a seaside rock alludes to a spiral. Only inches small it embodies a symbolic meaning of growth and creativity.

The spiral is a universal symbol. Moving inward in reflective moments it is possible to learn and relearn the truth about my own life and experiences. What have I learned? How have I grown? Has my inward creativity and inspiration moved outward for all to see? Have I evolved, bit by bit, over time, into the person I want to be?

I was very excited to find this timeless symbol in nature! Completely unexpected, it reminds me to keep open-my eyes, my senses, my expectations and thoughts to share with others.