Hornby in the Spring

Published March 6, 2013

By Rachelle Chinnery

Coming out of winter on the West Coast is a kind of getting out of bed. After a quiet sleep under the cover of cloud and rain, we put our bare feet on the moist cool ground for the first time in months. They are tender from lack of textural contact. We walk toe to heel, carefully, in newly sprouting fields and still icy beach sands. It feels wonderful.

As we pass each other on muddy paths, all we have to do is nod and smile. Each of us walks in private enjoyment of the new air. Nettle fields see regular harvesting hands. Everyone watches and waits for the herring spawn to make it all official.

Spring begins in understated exuberance on this island. Salmon berry blossoms, sparse on their branches in brilliant fuchsia, are barely detectable in all the winter’s still sleeping undergrowth. Trees slowly acquire a more saturated green until, one day, they are fully in leaf. Then, seemingly overnight, brilliant yellow and deep purple flowers erupt from every rocky crevice lining the shores.

Rubber boots trade places with sandals on the shoe shelf, gardening tools become a common sight on deck tables. New lettuce is savoured as a rare delicacy and every new blossom in the garden is a celebration in anticipation of the full spectacle of summer to follow.

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