Our walks give us a changing mural as plants step forward to flourish in their short moments in the summer sun. We always look forward to the daisies dancing in the sunshine along side the fireweed and purple clover. They are the smiles of the group.
Such is our delight in wandering in the untamed “country” as opposed to the city. Sure they have beautiful flower beds carefully tended by city workers, but we prefer our hikes where we discover wild raspberries and the pretty golden fox that flirted with us today.
I’m reminded of my friend who appreciates the “wild” and lives nestled in some hundreds of acres of wilderness that he explores with sled dogs in the winter and llamas in the summer. On a visit to a gated retirement city where snowbirds from Canada flock to in the winter, he told me the community was so manicured that he was pretty sure the few wild rabbits around there were bathed and fluffed up to be picture perfect and not really so wild.
Delighting in the exotic-to-us fresh oranges picked from the tree, he verified that there is indeed a tipping point in how many fresh oranges a person should devour in the novelty of the moment. Much like me with fresh pineapple in Maui. That tipping point.
But back to our daisies. Summer in the north of Canada is magical. Not manicured. Not managed. With a growing season measured in weeks and daylight staying around until well past bedtime urging plants to show their stuff, it’s just magic.
Nope, no oranges to pick here, but enough daisies to “give you a daisy a day, dear and love you until the rivers run still and the four winds we know blow away”.
A Daisy a Day – song by Ernest Tubb
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