![Chandler O'Leary [logo]](https://chandleroleary.com/wp-content/themes/chandleroleary/images/logo.png){kind=logo}
It’s been a tough couple of weeks around here, and it’s the time of year when the Northwest is shrouded in a dark silver cloud most days. But just out my studio window is an early-blooming camellia, giving me a pop of spring color just when I need it most.
Hope yours was glorious!
The rhododendroon is the state flower of Washington, so it’s not like I’m not used to seeing them around town. But this pink monster, which practically dwarfs our neighbor’s house, is something else again.
Spring was never my favorite season before we moved to the Northwest (I’m more of an autumn gal in general), but what we lack here compared to the spectacular fall foliage of the East, we more than make up for with our spring color. I’m a convert—and reveling in all this gorgeous pink.
I might have a personal preference for autumn, but spring really is the Northwest’s best season. The days are rapidly getting longer, everywhere you look is just bursting with color, and—my favorite part—the season lasts and lasts, for months on end.
I have acres of work before me in the studio, but I can’t help spending part of my days on long walks around my neighborhood—I don’t want to miss a second of all this gorgeous pink.
Today, though, I’m indoors at the Flea Market. So if you’re out on the town today and taking in the blossoms, stroll on down to the Fieldhouse and say hello, won’t you? You’ll bring a breath of spring in the door with you.
It’s gloomy again today, but last week was so gorgeous I just had to drop everything and sketch outside. This is from one of my favorite neighborhood spots in Tacoma—sometimes it’s still hard to believe I live here.
And just like that, the season turns. I don’t know what that Punxsutawney Phil guy thinks he knows, but his predictions rarely apply here. Spring comes early in the Northwest, and yesterday I spied this little harbinger of good things to come. I’ll take the predictions of the trees over any prognosticating rodent.
The sun’s returning in earnest now, too—not just with this batch of unexpected blue skies we’ve had lately, but with noticeably longer days. Everyone here is just a little more cheerful as a result. Suddenly, everywhere are smiles and open windows, as we all breathe in that first hint of fresh spring air.
Despite an overabundance of deadlines and studio hubbub lately—well, beautiful spring weather and productivity just don’t mix. Besides, a sunny Friday in the Northwest is basically a license to play hooky. So I took a day off and made my annual pilgrimage up to the Skagit Valley to catch the end of the Tulip Festival.
I’m glad I waited this year; not only did the blooms hit a late peak, but the weather was nearly flawless.
Unfortunately, that also meant I wasn’t alone. Finding a shot that didn’t include minivans, port-a-potties, cyclists in DayGlo jackets or entire families striking goofy poses was quite a challenge, and required a lot of waiting and creative cropping.
This time, however, I was interested in far more than just the tulips alone. So I cast a wider net, and found the magic absolutely everywhere I looked. Whenever I wandered away from the fields of pink and red, I seemed to have whole acres to myself.
Still, come sunset, the tourists had all gone home, and it was just me, the mountains, and a sea of blooms stretching to the horizon.
It might officially be spring out there, but around the house, winter still has us in its grip. Both the Tailor and I have been battling a particularly nasty, über virus for weeks now, so no matter how promising the weather reports might be, my brain is just screaming at me to stay home. I’m finally on the upswing, it seems, but just to give the ol’ system an extra boost, I’m chugging citrus like there’s no tomorrow.
My favorite thing is to squeeze a big splash of lemon and orange juice into piping hot Earl Grey—this time I juiced a couple of last October’s ruby-red pomegranates (yep, they’ll keep that long!) as well, since I haven’t had a chance to pick up any of the blood oranges that are just coming into season now. I toss in a few cloves and cinnamon sticks, stir it with a goodly dollop of honey, and sip away. And suddenly I feel far less poorly … at least until my mug is empty again. Which reminds me—I think I hear the kettle whistling.
Yesterday I headed north with a friend for my second Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. I was hoping to do some drawing this year, but the weather had other plans.
It was like I’d never been there before—everything was different this year. For one thing, the tulips are blooming early, so the daffodils hadn’t retired yet.
For another, the farmers have rotated their crops, so the tulips are occupying different fields than last year—which gave me a whole new set of photo possibilities.
And best of all, we had the place to ourselves—Tuesday discouraged the tourists with day jobs, and the rain took care of the rest.
The Skagit Valley is quickly becoming a favorite haunt; it was hard not to turn the day trip into a week of following all the back roads and exploring all the hidden pockets of scenery I discovered yesterday.
That’s okay, though. I know that next time, more than just tulips will be waiting for me.
…it would be the unexpected blooming of an early spring.