78. First light, June, 2015

I awoke at first light — about 4:30 — not because of the light, but due to the rattling of windows that signaled arrival of a weather front and its predicted rain.

I had no desire to rise so early, but I had to go to the bathroom (as old men too-frequently do) and then my still-groggy mind began filling up with lists. Soon my mind needed to summon its memory (so the lists would not be forgotten) and I was awake.

Still, mind irretrievably engaged, I could have wrapped myself in blankets against the chill morning air and indulged some daydreaming, composed some essays, imagined some woodworking projects, or …. Problem was, one of the lists included, “things to do before the rain”.

For instance, years ago I was told that fireplace ashes ought to be scattered around lilac trees. Mine (the ashes that is) are well-cooled; there is no threat of fire; but still (in an abundance of caution) I like to spread them before a rain. And my bulbs (having now finished their spring display are dying back. I need to spread some bone meal on them before they disappear and I lose track of just where they are. Moreover, the wisteria also craves bone meal — that this coming rain will slowly percolate through its eager soil:

So I am up: tinkled, brushed, scrubbed, combed, dressed. A closer look, (with glasses now employed), reveals that the rain has begun. But it is still soft and gentle — not too late for this morning’s chores. So, raincoat donned, hat atop my head, I am out the early morning door. Just the mosquitoes, deer and me.

Duties complete, ashes and bone meal scattered, I put some water on the stove for tea, (Tao, “Wild Sweet Orange” — I am suspecting it is not all that wild.), and report to my keyboard to compose this note.

The Point is a symphony of rhythms: seasons, moons, tides, arriving and departing birds. One of those rhythms is expressed in the cycle of blooming plants. And in that cycle this is a moment of supreme fecundity. The season is short; we northerners must, “make hay (or rhododendrons) while the sun shines”. And so we are.

Daffodils have past, as has the Red-bud; Lilacs are fading; Ornamental Allium, Iris and Rhododendron are at their peaks.

This Rhododendron is almost 35 years old, probably 40 if you count its time at the nursery; (you can get a sense of its size from the large construction wheelbarrow at its base).

Comparatively, these naturalized Iris are mere children.

Dog woods are just beginning their night, make that “day”, at the prom. The woods are full of blooming bunchberry. Wild blueberry and cranberry are hiding their modest, low-to-the-ground blooms. Pollen fills the air and floats along the shore of the Bay — like cheap perfume at a high school dance.

Among the rhythms, let me share the calliope of our spring — the ubiquitous Lupin.

Susan used to say that, “If crows weren’t so common we could see how beautiful they are.” So, too, with Lupin. They are everywhere at this time of year: fields, road-sides, pastures, etc..

Their blossoms each start out something like this…

… tight little heads, perhaps 3 inches high, above lush foliage.

Within days, the head begins to elongate into this:

…or this.

A few more days and they are splendid specimens in (primarily) blue

or salmon, each blossom a foot long, buzzing with bees.

Each is lovely, but it is their massed color that most excites.

So, too, it is with us. We are “pretty enough” as individuals, but (John Wayne to the contrary not withstanding) it is together that we accomplish most.