
Ready! Set! Bloom!
Even though I’ve lived almost half my life here in the Northwest – more than, counting childhood visits – there are certain things I can’t seem to get used to. One is the unwritten rule “Sun Out; Shorts On” no matter if the thermometer says it’s below freezing. Where I came from, we wore shorts when it was hot, as in 80° Fahrenheit or more. Period.
Not that it’s a problem – more of a curiosity. My shorts-wearing days are pretty much over, anyway. But, another weather-connected phenomenon up here above the 45th Parallel North is how folks do things ‘in the moment.’ It the sun shines, it’s drop everything and go on a picnic or work in the garden or paint the barn. No planning ahead required.
Conversely, if it has been necessary to plan something – like a school field trip, say – it’s go anyway, weather be damned. And it goes without saying that fishermen, oystermen, farmers, loggers, and all the other workers who must spend most of their days outdoors, pull on their raingear with little regard for that ‘liquid sunshine’ pelting down on them.
I thought about these peculiarities of Northwest living yesterday when I took a break from my writing and went for a short walk. There was my neighbor Bradley – he of the beautiful garden – on hands and knees in the dirt cleaning up his flower beds.
“You should be out in your garden, too,” he told me cheerfully.
I didn’t even feel guilty or remorseful. Well, maybe a tad remorseful. I’ve been on a roll, writing-wise, for several weeks – nose-to-keyboard you might say – and I’ve taken very little notice of the world beyond my office door. Until yesterday, I hadn’t realized that the daffodils in front of Oysterville’s picket fences are already showing color. Nor had I seen that the rhodies in our south garden are festooned with fat pink buds on the verge of bursting forth.
While I’ve been tap-tapping away the hours, the sun has been shining out there and Mother Nature has been trying on her spring hat. I’m just a teensy bit sorry that I missed most of it but, on examining my priorities, I think my choice was the right one. When it’s either roll up my shirtsleeves to forge ahead with a writing project or change into shorts to goosebump in the sunshine and ocean breezes… no contest. I guess I won’t ever acclimate to life in the Northwest…

The Willapa Hills – the band, not the geologic formation – will be in Oysterville two weeks from tomorrow and I can hardly wait. I’m not sure at what point you can call something “an annual event” but I’m pretty sure their house concerts in our living room qualify.

ruined it by consolidating presidents’ birthday celebrations and cheating us out of a holiday. Fortunately, all that only-on-a-Monday business came along after I was grown.



