From Diane's Island Journal
Helliwell Park in the Spring – April 2004
Spring tumbled onto the island very suddenly this
year. One week we had grey skies, wild seas and a fire in the woodstove
every morning. The next week it was blue blue blue and fires in the evenings
just for fun.
In the Big City, where I grew up, spring was a sweet slow tease that started
at the end of March. I remember playing in the back alleys among the black,
gritty snowdrifts; making dams across the rivers of snow melt that ran
between the garbage cans.
My life has changed quite a bit since then. I'm living on a small island
where snow is a rare adventure and people start looking for spring at the
end of February. But the intoxicating smell of wet earth and new leaves is
the same.
I walked the trail around the Helliwell bluffs this morning, as I do a
couple of times a week. It's a different walk every time, depending on the
season, the weather, the time of day, the exact quality of light on the
ocean. Today there were wildflowers everywhere -- spread across the open
meadows, clinging to rocky cliffs. And yes, I was drunk, already, at that
outrageous hour, drunk on the smell of spring. One minute it was the tang of
salt spray, the next it was sap rising in young alders and old growth fir,
sweet cherry blossoms, ferns unfolding.
Smell is such a deep, primitive sense, so connected to memory. I wish I
could do more than vaguely point with clumsy words toward the experience of
walking around Helliwell in the spring.
I want a scratch and sniff website.
Check out our slide show for a glimpse
of
Hornby in all seasons.