Beauty of desert spring not to be denied

I love spring. If pressed, I would tell you my favorite season is fall, but I love spring. When I was a little girl, I could be found wandering the creek just behind our farmhouse, or the swales up the driveway, looking for wildflowers, polliwogs, birds’ nests. I can’t begin to describe how wonderful it was to find a clutch of killdeer eggs disguised as gravel, lying at my feet. Of course, it was better to find them at my feet rather than under them.

I haven’t changed much. That first dull orange robin of spring (of course the males send the women ahead to do the hard work of staking out the homestead) sends a little shiver of expectation right to my bones. From that point on, it’s just a matter of time before I see wildflowers or killdeer, hear the manic work of the northern flicker or the cascading laughter of the canyon wren.

I love spring.

The greening of the scablands is gradual, and I confess I don’t really notice it on my early spring walks until I see my first wildflower. I know most people get excited about the first buttercup, but my favorite is the lowly salt-and-pepper, with its small, monochromatic umbrel just a fraction of an inch above the ground.

By now, the hill south of the haystack is dotted with cheery yellow buttercups. I’ve seen the spikes of yellowbells and camas but no blooms yet. A couple of weeks ago I saw my first prairie star flowers. We always called them “baby faces” when I was a child. I suspect that my mother got tired of hearing, “What’s this one called, Mommy?“ and started naming them herself. I’ve never heard these delicate pale pink beauties called “baby faces” by anyone else.

I am able to identify most of the flowers I find by consulting “Sagebrush Country: A Wildflower Sanctuary”, by Ronald J. Taylor. Sometimes I find them in “Northwest Weeds”, also by Taylor.

Last year was a spectacular year for wildflowers. A relatively mild winter and adequate moisture meant carpets of buttercups, shooting stars, balsamroot, sulfur lupine and rock roses.

This region has wildflowers I’ve never seen before - the crown-like growth of daggerpod (a rather ugly name for a very beautiful flower), for example. There are at least two different varieties of lupine, neither of which is the same as that around Bickleton. I’ve seen sandwort and hop sage. Wow.

When I first moved here nine years ago, I wasn’t sure I could live in a world without trees. Now, before you get all exercised, remember that I came here from Portland, where it’s green all year ‘round, and there are trees everywhere. I know there are trees here - it’s just that I missed having LOTS of trees.

I still miss trees, but I’ve also come to appreciate the severe beauty of this landscape. I love the way the lichen on the basalt brightens up in the warmer days of spring, and the masses of a nearly microscopic white flower that is everywhere right now. It remains unidentified, but I’ll get it eventually.

I love the way rain-swollen Crab Creek rushes and swirls around the railroad bridge. I think the great blue heron that lifted off yesterday just feet from where I walked was a gift from God. I’m sure I saw a beaver wave his paddle tail at me a couple of weeks ago. I especially love the song of the western meadowlark, that most beautiful of music.

I love spring!