Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The ephemeral nature of life

When I was 9 and my older sister was 12, we were hit by a car. I was reminded of this recently when standing at a downtown corner, waiting for a light to change to cross the street. I was, apparently, just a wee step too close to the street. A giant pickup whizzed by so fast and so close that I felt its after-effect ruffle my coat. Lost in thought until that moment, I realized how fast and furious life is and how quickly all things can change with just one misstep. I shivered from the thought.

Another season has begun in the garden and already the stunning orange fritillaria bells are fading and withering. Peonies are beginning to bud and will burst forth their silky pink petals soon, so very soon. The Siberian Iris, so delicate, are here and gone in a sliver of time--I am already anticipating their blue. Sometimes I almost can't bear the ephemeral nature of the garden. So much beauty, so lovely, so short lived. I want to hold onto it always: at night, waking. At work in the midst of chaos. Here in the quiet of the house in the late evening when the garden is cloaked in darkness. 

Every now and then I think about that day so long ago when my sister lay in the street, hit straight on while I, just two steps behind her, was skimmed by the car. It sent me tumbling backwards and gave me nothing more than a set of scraped knees. Elizabeth lay in traction in the hospital and then months in bed in a full body cast for a leg broken in two places. How lucky we were and how differently it could have turned out.

Today I spotted the miniature tulips I've been waiting for. They are bright carmine, hot flames of red, markers of time, spring's sweet ephemeral glory. 

Sunday, April 12, 2009

After the storm

It rained most of the day. When I woke up early, in the rainy dawn, my first groggiest thought was what a great day it would be to cozy in on the couch and read all day. While that isn't exactly what transpired, it was close. And it was a wet soggy one, nearly all day. 

Last night we watched Vicky Christina Barcelona, and I have been thinking about it ever since. The movie began and ended in an airport, the symbol of their journeys, from the tale of their days in Barcelona, to the unknowable but suggested journey beyond Barcelona. Vicky thought she had what she wanted and knew where she was going, but her journey in Barcelona changed everything. Christina knew she was always restless, always looking, pushing boundaries, searching and learning, and then ready to go again. 

The movie put me in mind of the ephemeral nature of our lives. Transience, chance encounters, choices--all take us places we might not expect. I yearn for the beauty of those unexpected moments. Even the garden takes us there. A rush of unexpected plum flower petals falling like rain, the swelling bud of giant orange fritillaria rushing to bloom, the power of plants to return again and again despite the fierce cry of winter in their bones.

Monday, April 6, 2009

The first real day of spring

Hello? Is this thing on? Hello! Test. Test. One, two, three. Test. 

Okay, I am not fooling myself to think that just because I write, they will come. But I'm starting anyway. This blog is devoted to photography, gardening, running, and language. I suspect other topics will pique my interest. In the meantime, spring is on my mind...

After what has felt like the never-ending winter, we finally got out in the garden in shirt sleeves on Sunday, able to dig in the dirt and savor the warmth. Of course Northwest gardening is really all about year-round work, but this winter AND spring so far, with snow and endless cold temps (38 degrees on April 1...), it has been more than challenging to want to go outside and accomplish anything. 

At this time of year, it's almost shocking how quickly some things have shot out of the ground. The fritillaria are already 3 feet high. The peony shoots, red and strong. The daylilies are a foot tall. We pulled them all out of the bed in front of the house, where they've been growing and spreading for 20 years (I've divided them twice before), but it's become obvious that they are relentless in their bid to take over the front yard. We took every last one out and piled them in front of the house to give away. 

Today promises to be an equally seductive day and I will put on the grubbies and the gardening clogs and dig in the dirt some more.