“Flowers are the music of the ground…”
Here are some buttercups I took a photo of when I was hiking in Kananaskis early this summer. The trouble is that I’m frequently distracted by precious and rare little beauties like these along the trail… I don’t mind, but it’s potentially a bit dangerous, as hiking trails are notoriously uneven, root-riven, and frequently meander along steep mountainsides.
I’m afraid there’s nothing for it; I must stop and look. And touch. Not every exquisite little splash of colour smells as sweet as the wild roses, but there is enjoyment to be found in a moment passed with every single one. I feel like saying to them, in a voice I’d use with a child, “What a pretty girl!”
One thing that so appeals to me about wildflowers is the way they grow and bring bright and lovely colours out of uncultivated, sometimes seemingly barren patches of ground. When I think of all the effort we put into getting just the right soil mix in our gardens, it amazes me what the earth can bring forth all on her own. Spotting these little gems feels to me like finding hidden treasures in treacherous, out-of-the-way places.
This reminds me of these wise words I read several years ago:
“They buried us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.”
It’s funny, isn’t it? Serendipitous. I’m inspired to push up toward the sunlight, through the rocky challenges I face, and bring out the best beauty and sweetness I can, in spite of tough conditions.
Here are some gorgeous ones my son sent me the other day:
How nice it is for us to be able to ‘send flowers’ to someone we love from far away, with no costs or delivery delays…
What a relief! I just recovered from a migraine that had kept me in bed since Sunday…
This is me, feeling happy that I could half uncover that eye this afternoon, knowing the end was in sight. I get migraines pretty often. Well, very often. But I can catch most of them early with medication etcetera and don’t often get knocked down for days a time. But when I do, I hate it.
I know I’m blessed to have medicines and a supportive family, and a comfortable bed. I appreciate my earplugs and eye mask to block noise and light, and I’m grateful for my Cefaly. It gives me amazing relief during migraines. I alternate between that and ice packs for my head and neck, but my best relief during a migraine is sleep.
Then, it gradually fades away… often leaving my poor head feeling tender; even a bit bruised. But emotionally, I feel a sense of fragile euphoria. Being up, and especially outdoors feels almost too good to be true.
This evening I meandered slowly down to the river just outside with my dear husband. We just sat there together on the riverbank, soaking in the peace and beauty of the sun on the water. I felt like I could really relate to Mole, in Kenneth Grahame’s classic tale, The Wind In The Willows. He was so relieved to go outside into the spring sunshine after being stuck inside in the dark for so long; so was I.
“…tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.”
See that little wee blip on the horizon? That’s the skyscrapers in downtown Calgary!
We went for a gorgeous hike today, about an hour from home. It was pretty amazing to get this perspective on our city. This picture was taken from the road up to the Moose Mountain trailhead, where we’d planned to start a hike going up above the tree line. Alas, there were at least a couple feet of snow covering the trail, and we weren’t equipped with snowshoes, so we had to come up with a Plan B. I mean, I guess we could have forced our way through, but other hikers had tried this and ended up coming back down after a few minutes of wading through thigh-deep snow. No, thank you.
Not far off, we found a lovely ‘walk-in-the-woods’ hike. There was almost no snow left on these trails, and it was so warm that we found this very spring-y butterfly perching prettily atop a pussy-willow tree next to our path. We hiked up and down hills in a peaceful pine forest, enjoying a little extra spring in our step, courtesy of the mossy, pine-needle carpeted trails.
The moral of the story is, a change of plans can be a wonderful thing. Serendipitous.
Practical things. Like sending a friend pictures of seeds for our shared garden during a text conversation. How handy is it that we always have a camera on us?
And how much handier is it that whatever image we capture at any given moment, we can instantly send or share it with anyone else?!
Clearly this picture never had the potential to change the world, but how many times have I been at the store and wondered if I was looking at or holding the right item. Not a problem; I just take a photo of it and send it to whoever I’m texting with or talking to. Right then and there.
This reminds me of a concept I’ve heard about; hedonic adaptation. This term just refers to the way we quickly absorb the waves of happiness that good things bring to our lives; at first we may be tickled pink to enjoy a new pleasure or convenience, but not for long. I’ve only had a camera phone in my hand for about half of my life, but it’s so easy for me to forget how much of a privilege it actually is.
And speaking of privilege… 😉 a couple months ago, shortly before COVID-19 closed things down, I treated myself to a gel manicure. My natural fingernails often behave like puff pastry and think they should shred and peel at the slightest provocation. I know; I need more collagen. I’m working on it. In the meantime, I’d gone in to a nail studio for a quick fix. It was a busy place. While I was waiting, I took the opportunity to choose the colour I wanted, to save time once my appointment actually started. Snap. I was ready with my image when my nail technician asked. Just so. Then, as I was about to leave, I saw a sign which promised that if I posted a photo of my nails in the salon, I’d be entered in a draw for a free manicure. Accordingly, I quickly took a little picture of my much-improved hands, and posted it to my instagram feed, tagging the nail shop.
Again, not earth-shattering. Still, for every such innocuous example, there must be dozens out there of camera phones to the rescue on matters of much greater import.
p.s. Did I win the draw for a free manicure? This remains to be seen; there must still be a remote chance that I’ll get a call once business gets back underway. It’s possible…
“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”
…or, in my case, God gave me a camera phone so I can have roses in April.
In December, I have Christmas to cheer my heart. By late April, my soul is really craving green leaves, rosebuds, and fresh little blossoms.
The snow is pretty well gone, but the ground is still mainly grey and brown where I live. I remind myself that spring has sprung when the days become longer; I try to focus on and celebrate the increasing daylight. This is necessary for me. I’ve learned by sad experience that March and April can find me feeling more than a little low if I wait for mild, greening weather too early in the year for where I now live.
So last summer I went outside by the river and collected these photos of wild roses, to tide me over until our short but sweet rose season is back.
How pretty are they? And they not only look delicious, but smell so sweet I could drink the scent. It’s something I look forward to all year. I can just breathe in the rose-scented air and feel so refreshed. And I know I’m not alone in this adoration of roses.
When we lived In England for a few years, there was a huge rose bush outside my kitchen window, in the back garden. The roses it grew were blush-coloured, and abundant. I’ll never forget the simple pleasure of standing at the kitchen sink and looking past the hideous orange and yellow tiles someone had unwisely decorated the backsplash with… to my bountiful bush of blooming beauties through the open window.