I spent part of the holidays in Los Angeles this year, surrounded by a sea of asphalt and traffic sprawling for hundreds of square miles. Shuttling between relatives and friends on the maze of 14-lane freeways, I soon felt spiritually exhausted by the visual din of billboards, power lines, parking lots, storefronts, neon signs and cars blowing past at 80 mph.
Photo by Wendy Worrall Redal
Is there anything that says “spring” more effusively than a tulip? As soon as colorful bunches start popping up in the grocery store in February, I quit thinking about wet snow, gray skies and winter’s lingering grip. However pretty a bright bouquet of cut blooms is, there’s nothing like surveying row upon rainbow-striped row of these spring floral icons in full, growing glory.
For 20 minutes I’d stood at the rail of the Pelagic, watching the rise and submersion of two black dorsal fins in Haro Strait, off San Juan Island. “Granny,” a 95-year-old orca matriarch, and “Ruffles,” named for the ripply edge on his fin, were cruising the silver waters in search of Chinook salmon.