Tag: Nature

• Summer Diary: Lessons in Slowness

  This summer seems to be dragging on, but in a long-days-filled-with-nothing-but-sand-and-salt-and-fresh-fruit kind of way.

  The slowness has been aided by a recent bout of COVID – one which has taken me longer to recover from than I’m used to. Typically, when I get sick I’m down for a day maybe two before bouncing back (or at least pretending to bounce back well enough to get by.)

  It feels like my sort of luck to get COVID during the summer. The one time I had it before now was also summertime – likely picked up on the plane back from Portugal.

  This time around I am blaming Oregonians for flocking to the coast during the 4th of July heatwave. Libby and I happened to be there too, not thinking ahead that it would be crowded. Only wishing for a bit of wind and waves and big stretching beaches.

  

  Then on the car ride home my throat started to hurt. Now one week has passed, during which we have had some of the nicest summer weather of my life, and I have been held down by this persistent cough.

  At first I felt like rolling my eyes at the universe for giving me illness when I should be out having fun. I wanted to go to the concert down at the dock and laugh at all the old people dancing. I wanted to go visit a friend and stop at a flower nursery on the way home. I wanted to cook food and have people over.

  But then I had a kind of revelation at what was actually headed my way: a series of long summer days with no agenda. No time I needed to wake up. No place I needed to be. Similar to those days when I was a kid on summer break. No plans other than waking up and going, “What should I do today?” and then filling my hours with random tasks, building the day hour-by-hour into something that would be fun for me.

  It’s not as easy to do when sick, when we were supposed to be taking it slow and resting. (Libby got sick just a few days after I did). But the other option was to sit at home being bored out of our minds while the sun outside teased us. So I decided to approach this time of sickness like a child on their summer break.

  And what do kids do during the summer?

  

  They eat ice cream and go swimming.

  And luckily we live near enough to Marrowstone Island’s Fort Flagler, where the little outdoor camp store has soft serve ice cream and the hidden beaches are almost always completely empty. The perfect place for two sick girls.

  

  Here is where the sickness was actually an advantage. Instead of packing a giant picnic, lugging every beach-item known to man across hot sand, and forcing ourselves to sit on the beach for hours because that’s what we were doing and we were going to have fun damn it, we stayed for exactly as long as we felt like. And left when we were done. It was maybe about 45 minutes. Enough time for me to get in the water, lay in the sun and dry off, for Libby to walk the shore and pick up a handful of shells, but not enough time to get sunburned. It seems simple, but for some reason I have a hard time scaling back when it comes to prescribing myself “fun.”

  We were still tired in the car afterwards – the hot air rushing over us through the rolled down windows while Joan Shelley played – but I’m pretty sure we would have been tired no matter what. We were sick. And it wasn’t the kind of tiredness where I felt cranky and annoyed and hot and itchy with sand. It was warm sleepiness. Sandy, salty, a little bit overly tanned. But warm with a breeze in my hair. Ready to lay on the couch and finish the book I’d started that morning.

  And on the way home we stopped to get fresh fruit to make a clafoutis. Which we ended up hating and throwing away. Which we replaced with a plum cake we like much better.

  

  It has been a while since I’ve had a slow summer. There are a few that stand out in my mind. The year I was home from college but my parents were gone, so it was just me and the cats and I lay on the beach reading Russian literature (by which I mean, a novella. Anything longer than that I couldn’t bring myself to crack open). The year of 2020, when I had quit my job and decided to “write a novel” that summer (the pages of which are long lost on my old computer.)

  Maybe this summer will be another one that leaves an imprint. One where I notice, and try, each and every fruit that ripens as the weeks grow warmer and warmer. Until they grow cold again.

  

  We’ll call it the sweet pea summer.

  July 17, 2024

  beach, Nature, summer, travel, writing

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• Jardin Journale: After the rain

  It’s been raining nonstop for the past month.

  But this week was one of the worst yet. Day after day of unrelenting rainfall left me feeling like I might drown in the growing mud puddle surrounding my house.

  So when the clouds parted Friday afternoon and I saw blue sky for the first time in many, many days, it was like feeling several pounds lighter. Spring will come as it always does.

  

  On Saturday, Libby and I went for a walk at Chetzemoka park in town, getting inspiration from a tiny daisy that was blooming in the middle of a soggy, grassy knoll. There, a tree has already begun to bloom, making me feel like the pressure is on to get the yard ready for spring planting.

  

  

  On Sunday, I got out in the yard and began assessing our soil. Fallen leaves and tree debris has made for a nice mulchy layer to add nutrients to the soil.

  

  Our winter blooming Hellebores bring a spot of color to the yard—a ray of sunshine to come home to on the days when cloud cover and early sunsets make the entire day seem dark.

  

  

  And signs of the coming spring are all around: I trimmed off last year’s seed pods from the peony tree, where new buds are forming. They look like clasped hands.

  

  What’s exciting about our new home is we don’t fully know what is out in the garden yet. We know there are peonies, but don’t know what color. We see buds forming on the rhody, but aren’t sure when it will bloom. There’s a bare shrub that could (hopefully!) be a lilac. And shoots are springing from the dark earth that are likely the first stages of some irises and crocosmias.

  Slowly, it will reveal itself to us and we hope to add even more color, with a plan to plant sunflowers, snapdragons, sweet peas, foxgloves, Queen Anne’s Lace, dahlias and much much more.

  We have already planted a few daffodil bulbs around the yard. I keep looking at the spots where we planted them, imagining them waking up from their dormancy under there. Hopeful that they’ll grow, bloom and bring brightness and color. Waiting, waiting.

  

  XO Lily

  February 10, 2020

  blogging, creative writing, garden, gardening, Nature, pacific northwest, photography, pnw, port townsend, rain, washington, weather, writing

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• Sunny, dreamy

  If we didn’t have winter, would we still feel that immeasurable joy on those first warm, spring days?

  

  My job gives me the opportunity to meet and talk with a lot of people. Just last week, I met with a rambunctious crew restoring an old houseboat, talked with a sunny flower farmer, and had lunch with the leader of a local activist group.

  Even though other aspects of my job have recently been causing me a lot of (unnecessary) stress, those meetings are what bring me the most joy. I fall in love with someone every day, because humans are interesting, hardworking, creative, smart, and beautiful.

  

  

  

  And I feel that not only are these humans fulfilling their purpose by doing whatever it is that they’re doing, but they are also fulfilling their purpose purely by making my day.

  Maybe that sounds self-centered. But then I think about how maybe to fulfill my purpose here on this Earth, all I need to do is connect with another human once or twice. Now and then, just have a nice conversation. Share a smile or a thought. Or even a split-second of eye contact. An understanding.

  And I like that thought.

  

  Or maybe my purpose in life is just to lie in the grass on a sunny spring day, soaking in the rays, quietly chatting with a good friend, and observing the early season flowers. I also like this thought.

  

  This blog post is sponsored by a crazy amount of optimism and dreaminess.

  XO Lily

  April 2, 2019

  blogging, creative writing, creativity, daffodils, driving, earth, flowers, lifestyle, Media, Nature, pnw, Skagit, Skagit Valley, travel, WA, washington, writing

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• Family Style

  

  I live my life on social media these days. Scrolling through Twitter during the week leading up to Thanksgiving, in between all the articles about our uncertain future, I found a host of poorly written How-To’s, or rather How-Not-To’s, on bringing up politics at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

  Like with most things happening online and in real life, I ignored. And when chatting with my sister a couple weeks ago I encouraged her not to start those hard conversations with family, even though I knew she really wanted to.

  “Let’s tag team it at Christmas time,” I  said, but what I really meant was, “Confrontation makes me uncomfortable.”

  Then I got the chance to ignore the current state of America even more. I changed my phone background to a picture of Justin Trudeau and headed to Toronto, CA to spend a blissful four days with my friends at Judy’s house.

  

  It snowed a little. We went swimming in her pool, did face masks, drank Canadian and Chinese beer. At the Christmas market we went on a carousel ride and then chatted with Canadian taxi drivers. We took a trip to Niagara Falls and rode the Maid of the Mist into the mist, getting pretty soaked.

  

  

  For our Thanksgiving meal at Judy’s house, we had hot pot, a Chinese dish that has been around for centuries in which a pot of hot broth simmers in the center of the table surrounded by plates of meat, vegetables, noodles and tofu just waiting to be cooked in the broth and eaten. It’s warm and steamy and delicious.

  

  The way we ate, with everyone grabbing food with their chopsticks out of the hot pot (or by being served by their friends), warmed me up inside. The food was fantastic because Judy’s mom is an amazing cook (and the kind of lovely person who makes a Thanksgiving feast for a bunch of Americans even though it wasn’t even Thanksgiving in Canada). It was participatory eating; not just a plate of food, but an act to share. There was so much food to try and time in between to talk and drink and enjoy each other’s company.

  

  

  I’m not saying my family’s normal Thanksgiving buffet is lame or anything. But this was so wonderful because it helped me to realize that when I’m away from my family, sans turkey & sans mashed potatoes, the little circle of friends I’ve found will be there, sharing food and thoughts. It was heart warming.

  And delicious. I’m still full from all that food.

  The thing is, we did end up talking a little bit about politics during that meal. But I realized that maybe that’s what meals are for. What better time to open up then when you’re sharing food? It’s a safe space.

  

  November 30, 2016

  Canada, Nature, Niagara Falls, Thanksgiving, Toronto, travel

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