When I was on my first trip to Arizona in 2008, I took many photos of cacti. Seeing them in their natural habitat was exotic—the desert hiking trails were so different from the lush forest trails I’d recently started exploring in the Seattle area and the coastal trails I’d hiked back home in Nova Scotia.
After that trip, I became a member of a large hiking organization. I joined a hike that was a two hour drive east of Seattle, beyond a mountain pass, where I was surprised to see a pink flower on a … hedgehog cactus. I learned there really is a desert environment in WA just east of the Cascade Mountains. The cactus suddenly seemed a little less exotic.
Larch trees at Lake Ingalls, WA 2009.
In October, hiking to see the larch trees at their peak in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area of the cascades became a ritual. The trails were busy with photographers setting up tripods. I contributed on social media to educating people on the wonder of the larch: a coniferous tree that is deciduous, it turns gold and sheds its needles in autumn.
Five years ago when I was home in Nova Scotia on vacation, my brother and I walked the length of our woodland with a forestry fellow and I asked him about the tree called tamarack. Turned out it’s another name for larch*. Here was the tree I had raved about yearly in WA … on my own property back in Nova Scotia.
During my road trip to Ontario last year, I noticed larch along the highway in New Brunswick. They looked just past their peak coloUr change and I did take the time to admire them and feel grateful for their brilliance. I also acknowledged there was a childhood lesson or fable for me there—something like the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence or with distance we see what was right in front of us all along or rarity isn’t necessarily an attribute of beauty.
Right now the grass isn’t green on either side of the fence but it will be in just another month. There is so much going on under the surface right now. Birds are back. The pot holes are plentiful but the big ice chunks in the Minas Basin have suddenly disappeared. The garden centers are sprouting up in grocery and hardware store parking lots. Last week, I got the car stuck when the patch of lawn I use for turning around quickly became mud. I called for help (before I made things much worse) and friends came over and we pushed the little car out. A few days later when I went to a drive-though carwash to remove the mud, I entered the code and then forgot to roll up my window before driving in. Yes. I laughed while drying the steering wheel (and my face). I think this is a lesson I only need to learn once. Right now I’m experiencing a particularly enthusiastic hope for new growth.
*The tree is also called hackmatack.
Connie says
❤, thank you for sharing.
back is the new forward says
The ability to laugh at myself has served me well : – )