We stood out in a field with eyes gazing up waiting for the display to start.  Subtle and then striking, more incredible than fireworks and continuous.  Light dancing, streaking, shifting across the sky.  Our eyes not quite able to take in the color present.  Yet we stood in awe, looking up and around, not wanting to miss anything.  Our normal bedtime routines passed as we stood in the dark field marveling that we could see such a sight as this.  

Quietly, the trees wake up with small buds starting to swell.  Almost unnoticeable unless you are looking for it.  A hint of green along the bark and then one morning it appears like someone glued popped popcorn kernels along the branches of the cherry trees.  The trees bloom in succession. Each one in bloom long enough for the next tree to open and start cross pollinating.  The blueberries hang out their bell-shaped pale green blooms in an understated way and the pear tree blooms make their quick appearance.  Small bursts of color ranging from white to pale pink, to coral to a raspberry red make their way across the yard. A new day, a new week, a new tree has put forth its promise of fruit later in the year.  The apple tree dances with color as each grafted in branch blooms just a fraction of a day later than the first as if it is creating a wave.  The presence of the fruit trees gives a permanence to the place because of the time it takes for them to mature and give enough fruit. The stacks of wood for future projects arranged in the background and the ladder waiting for the cherries to ripen make me feel rooted in this spot that is full of promise of gifts to come.



 

It's amazing how people from all over the world even, flock to the valley for the tulips.  There are month long events and bike rides through back roads.  There is a bloom map to show which fields are in full color starting with the first of the daffodils and ending with the last of the tulips.  I started taking the kids each year to see the tulips and making a day of it.  We would tromp through the fields in our rainboots and sometimes with umbrellas, always with my camera and would buy a snack of kettle corn or McDonalds on the way home.  Sometimes we would ride the wagon out to the field or the little train barrels. We'd look at the art, the flowers, and the mud puddles.  The kids have grown and they no longer make them go with me to the fields, so I bribe my husband or go alone.  This year I convinced a friend to go with me and I was in sticker shock.  I don't ever remember paying $17! to go to the show garden before.  There would be no way that I would have paid $70 to take the kids and yet this is the price now.  So what once was almost a annual pilgrimage will change for me.  No longer entering the display gardens but content to photograph the fields that allow me to stop.










 

Like so many mornings when we stay at Cannon Beach, I quietly dressed, grabbed my camera and slipped out the door of our room.  Out on the beach, I kicked off my shoes, leaving them near the stairs and wandered passed Ecola Creek. When we first stayed here, I ran with the speaker's wife.  While she was jumping and skipping the rest of the day, I was in pain slowly walking up and down the stairs, over to the dining hall.  I was early 30s she was early 60s.  Lately though, instead of reaching for my running shoes, instead I reach for my camera since I never know what will inspire me on my daily walk to Haystack Rock.  This particular morning, I was treated to a usual sight for me.  I hear that this is a common occurrence for the residence of the town as the herd of elk will strip gardens and landscaping on their way oceanside.  In the predawn hours, I noticed a stag step tentatively out from a group of tall evergreens lining a street.  Nose in the air and swinging his head back and forth searching for signs of danger. Moving slowly down the sandy dune, the rest of the heard emerged.  He stopped as if he was a crossing guard while the cows and their calves meandered towards the waves.  The young practiced their fighting skills on their hind legs. They moved slowly and the stag, on guard.  Suddenly a cow breaks from the heard with her calf trying to keep up. The stag gives chase, passing and then turning her back towards his herd.  Tries again and again and each time, he gives chase, trying to keep them together.  Slowly they  worked their way to the tall wild grass growing on the dunes and disappeared.  Later towards evening, they made their way back across the beach while families flew kites, children splashed in the water and wood was being stacked for late night bonfires. But there was something magical and almost personal watching them in the early morning hours that made getting out of bed worth it.















 

 My bare feet were covered in sand as I trudged along the beach when I heard the telltale shriek of an eagle.  I am used to that sound along the Nooksack River at home but not here.  Instantly I picked my head up, looking around trying to spot it in the tall pines.  Then I turned a different direction and squinting towards the waves. There is where I spotted it.  Just out of reach of the waves.  I used to run these shores and now I walk them with my camera in hand and so quickly brought up my camera to photograph this unusual sight.  Every morning, I walked the shore with camera in hand and was rewarded with another encounter of eagles, not just the one, but two along the beach.  Slowly, I edged my feet into the small fast flowing creek that cut across the beach, holding my camera high above the water as it crept higher and higher, and covering my knees.  Hoping it wouldn't get any deeper, the cold water swirled around my legs, I kept crossing, switching my view between the eagles and the creek bed.  I walked at a diagonal towards the pair of eagles.  Stopping to photograph them, hoping that I could get closer and not scare them into flight.  The combination of morning mist, predawn colors of the sky, rolling surf upon the beach, haystack rock and eagles became almost magical.