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’s blustery!
Although brisk, it’s 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’d like to see chocolate lilies, amble along the Cowichan River footpath.
It’s a good time to pick up a little reference book, such as Popular Wildflowers of Coastal British Columbia and Vancouver Island by Neil L. Jennings (2020, Rocky Mountain Books Ltd.), or one of the 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 little hike and will have your heart pumping. There are many beautiful spots to sit and rest on the way up — hiking should not be rushed. It’s 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’s Bog, a fascinating ecosystem of saturated decaying plant life and an abundance of birds, and with a social history worth noting, is one of my favorite strolls, and it’s flat!
When your day of fresh air and admiration for Mother Nature’s 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 ponderings, reflections, memories, questions (most with no answers, as if the author is working things out), and meditations, little talks to oneself, really — some melancholic, some quirky, and all written as letters to Times Colonist garden columnist Helen Chesnut.
Raking leaves, planting daffodil bulbs and watching a little hummingbird are all 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 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: “What would Helen do?”
Although the author’s thoughts are at times delightfully complex, they are very readable — 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: “If you want information on your golden years, ask your pharmacist. They’re here to help.” Quirky, but sad.
Personally, I think the insert should start at 75 years old — 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’s something quirky for you, M.A.C. — 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’s what makes us human.
Some days, there’s knee pain to think about, some days a sudden invigorating 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 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 — is it brown, green, brown, green, or green, brown, green, brown? Wise Helen’s advice will set the world right, or at least help us work it all out.)
