It’s beach season here. Other than late summer and fall, the beaches are too cold and/or windy, and in early summer too foggy, to be reliably enjoyable. At no time of year is the water very warm: the ocean current flows from the north, which makes it chillier than on the coast of Norway, its beaches benefiting from water coming the other direction.
When we drove out to the beach for a birthday party the roadways were thick with Queen Anne’s Lace. If I’d been alone I’d have been very late for the party from stopping to take pictures. One guest brought a stem of it.
Of course, flowers love to grow at the beach cottage, too, and the young girls love to make bouquets.
After eating we walked down to the beach.
Years ago our friends released some domestic geese into the lagoon and we think it is their descendants who mingle with the indigenous fowl.
The young folks were playing a game
something like the Dr. Pepper of my grammar school days.
This rascally boy had something to do with his sister getting wet and annoyed.
The last decade of my life has been intense with wildflowers. I tried, before that, to learn some of their names, mostly from my husband, and from nature centers in the forests that we camped in with the children. It seemed too expensive to buy wildflower guides, and the only time I would think of it was on vacation.
Then daughter Pippin turned into a naturalist. Then she got a camera, and we had computers, and wowie, Let the Learning Begin! I now have such a collection of (mostly) her pictures on my computer, taken wherever she may go, but mostly in California. Several times I have been where there were many flowers, and when my husband would let me stop and look at them, so I am learning more.
This summer was a treasury of flowers, and I actually did learn the names of more than three, but to keep this post short I will just tell you about the three that stumped Pippin and me. I looked in six wildflower guides, she looked I don’t know where, and we couldn’t figure them out. My friend Di put me in touch with her friends who live near Yosemite, visit there nearly weekly, and are cataloging the flowers in the park. They knew right away what these three were, so I give credit to them, and when they come out with a book I’ll let you know.
My picture doesn’t do justice to this plant that makes a soft lavender haze along the roadway, breaking the monotony of green trees and and grey pavement. Somehow from your car the impression and depth of color are more intense, though pastel. As you may remember, I called it purple haze or lavender mist. I just saw it last week in the more southern Sierras.
Sierra Vinegarweed
I sent this photo to my experts, and they told me it is Lessingia leptoclada. Wife Expert said that if she were naming flowers she would call it Lavender Groundsmoke. See? we think alike! But the common name, I discovered, is actually Sierra Vinegarweed. Not so appealing.
Sierra primrose
Mr. Glad was the discoverer of this flower on his hike up Clouds Rest in Yosemite. My Experts said it is rare in Yosemite and is Primula suffrutescens or Sierra Primrose. They had just “searched it out” and found it themselves two days before he did, on Polly Dome.
Scarlet Gilia
About this bright one they said, “Another favorite of ours…Ipomopsis agregata ssp. bridgesii, Scarlet Gilia (it used to be Gilia aggregata), also called Skyrocket, in the Phlox family. We see it every year along Tioga Road, and it was especially abundant this year.” It’s another one that makes a swath of color along the highway, as in the picture at top.
There you have it, a taste of my beginner’s nature studies.
I’m off to the mountains again this week. Two years ago I made my first solitary retreat in this remote destination, with some fear at the outset about being alone where there is no phone, and few people around. But the fear was gone the moment I walked through the cabin door and the reality of God’s presence came freshly on me. Why had I been talking about being alone up there, when it was really God and I together for a few days? And it did end up being best kind of retreat and rejuvenation of the spirit, by the Holy Spirit.
Perhaps this time I will spend more time at night looking at the stars. That other outing it was late September and almost too cold for it at that high elevation. There are none of men’s lights to interfere; I’ll put on my glasses and lie on my back on the deck. I remember how the sight of those uncountable stars filled me with awe for God, and with God Himself, so much that I couldn’t bear it for long.
Maybe I was unconsciously “thinking” ahead when I posted that poem and thoughts about night recently. I’ve been looking forward to the time for reading and prayer, and now that I start writing I’m reminded to anticipate the joy of the dark and starry night as well.
Our civilization has fallen out of touch with night.
With lights, we drive the holiness and beauty of night back to the forests and the sea;
the little villages, the crossroads even, will have none of it.
Are modern folk, perhaps, afraid of night?
Do they fear that vast serenity, the mystery of infinite space,
the austerity of stars?
–Henry Beston
But back to the bookish part of the opportunity. The process of preparing for the trip by choosing my reading material (and even the food to bring, I might add) is a sort of pre-retreat. I know I won’t be able to fully mine any of the treasure-troves that this list represents, but if I left one at home, it would surely be the one I’d want to dip into, right? In addition to a couple of the history or literature books from on my sidebar list, I’m taking these spiritually meaty ones.
Books for a Mountain Getaway: Orthodox Dogmatic Theology by Michael Pomazansky The Inner Kingdom by Kallistos Ware Little Russian Philokalia Vol. 1 by St. Seraphim Courage to Pray by Anthony Bloom On Prayer by Archimandrite Sophrony
Well, I’m going on my adventure, and pray God will bring me home to tell about it. If not, you’ll all know that it really was unbearably glorious!
This is the time of year when lavender bloom is peaking. I’m not speaking of French lavender, where I caught a butterfly perching at least a month ago. I have two of those bushes that seem to be always blooming, and quickly grow to a huge size because there never seems to be a post-bloom time to cut them back.
But rather, English lavender.
At church, close to my favorite rose, these two colors of lavender complement the mallow that waves over them.
And not too far away the Matanzas Creek Winery has acres of lavender in bloom right now. Many times I’ve taken friends to get a whiff and a feast for the eyes in the mornings of late June. I didn’t take this picture, though.
Pippin took many pictures of lavender at a farm we encountered in the Cotswolds of England at springtime several years ago. I’m not showing you her most picturesque shots, in case she wants to use them commercially sometime.
This farm grew so many varieties of lavender, and they had identifying markers at the end of each row, so that I could write the following journal entry:
On our way back to Snowshill we find the lavender farm Jacki told us not to miss. Fatigue has me waiting in the car for my daughter to take a picture, but she comes back to get me—she knows I will want to experience this place, and she’s right. What a palette of color and textures; her photos come out looking like Monet paintings. Twickle Purple, Alba, Dutch, Nana Alba, Hidcote and Peter Pan are some of the varieties I note in my book, as we stroll on wide grass paths among the neat rows spreading out of sight for many acres. There don’t seem to be any other people around; it’s probably suppertime for most folks–or later. Some of the plants are bushy and covered with blooms, others more dainty, with the flowers just coming on. The colors range from deep cobalt through lighter blue and white. When you throw in the lavender smell, it all makes for a sensual feast.
Lavender gives such a lot of pleasure over a long season, is unthirsty and very easy to care for. After the bloom, it’s short work to prune the bushes back, and then there’s no fuss until the next spring, when I can sit on the patio and watch the bees feeding off my own lavender. Weeks ago there were bushes in bloom in our area, but I kept watching in vain: the bees had not deemed mine ready yet. But today was the day! Just this morning there they were, a dozen of them buzzing around. It takes almost more patience than I have, to get a picture like this in a garden where the breeze is nearly constant. But I did it! So I have something to give today.
After eating we walked down to the beach.
The young folks were playing a game
This rascally boy had something to do with his sister getting wet and annoyed.
He was with us and made it a lovely day.
Gladsome Lights 