Notes from the Garden: Stark Contrast

The havoc wreaked by Saturday's big windstorm was just a distant memory for most of us by Sunday morning. Woe to those in the region that were left without power, but surprisingly there were so few outages considering the strength and length of the storm.

The quietness that descended on the region late Saturday night was utter bliss. I reveled in the new silence. I wanted no distracting noises, from the kitchen machines, the TV or any other sound system in the house. Even a shower seemed too noisy. It was time for a long, quiet Saturday night bath to soothe my badly jangled nerves.

Early Sunday morning, with great trepidation, I ventured forth to assess the storm damage in the garden. What a sorry mess. The garden looked as though it had been pulsed by a Cuisinart. Bits of madrona leaves, and twigs, sticks and branches strewn throughout the paths and beds. Birch twigs, rhododendron leaves, pinecones and needles littered about and piled into corners. Any green parts left on the trees and shrubs were severely frayed along their edges.

Yet, I rejoiced at the sturdy plants - none were lying on their sides. And I found one beautiful snowdrop in bloom, my beacon of hope and renewal.

Hurrying to join some out-of-town friends for a late breakfast down at the Market, I was amazed at the number of people out and about on a Sunday morning. Although the air was cool, the warmth of the sunlight was divine. (Should have found my sunglasses, wherever they might be.) Of course we were all out and about - there was golden light, something we haven't experienced for weeks. Just possibly, the green fuzzy mossy aura might disappear.

Aside from the ubiquitous "Go Seahawks" cries, there was another party theme going on up and down the streets. People of all ages, stretching their limbs, strolling with their faces to the light, joining in small groups to exchange smiles and laughter. After months of banging each other with our umbrellas as we scurried along, backs hunched against the foul weather, we immediately relaxed into a celebratory mood. I have seen this phenomenon before - perhaps unique to the Northwest? - where we immediately seize upon the beauty of the fair weather.

A few hours later I went out to get the fixings for a Sunday supper. The sun was still shining, the air temperature was noticeably warmer than the morning hours, but the streets were empty of the throngs of people. You could shoot the proverbial cannon down Queen Anne Avenue and hit nothing. It felt as if there had been a huge evacuation.

The game must have started....

[[In-content Ad]]