The neighborhood’s wealth of spring flowers has been a buoyant affair, a fulsome display of all shades of white, pink, and purple. It’s an exuberance of bringing light from shadow, an explosion of life and energy that I so missed in the long grey winter. The contrast is stark, no matter how I try to put a good spin on the cold season.

Spring and all its flowers now
joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for
celebration, not for
lying low;
you, too –
weed out those
roots of sadness
from your heart.

Hafiz

Most years I chase after the spring wildflowers, so ephemeral, magical, and uplifting, weeding out that sadness. Finding that perfect peak moment is a moving target, just like seeing the cherry blossoms downtown. Blink and you miss them. Somehow we didn’t catch a single wildflower event in the past three years – neither the Columbia Gorge wildflowers, nor the prolific camas lilies. Too late, too early, too wet, too cold, too windy, I don’t remember anymore. But this year they’re all blooming later than average by a few weeks, which means calmer conditions for the less hardy flower fans. This is our year.

Luckily, we live near to where camas lilies grow in profusion. The 22 acre Camassia Nature Preserve, run by the Nature Conservancy, sits on a rocky bluff above the Willamette River in West Linn, just a 20 minute drive away. The 205 freeway roars below, a high school sits next door, but once in the middle, it feels like a fairy world, a natural wonderland. A boardwalk cuts through the swampier spots, and the narrow trail winds in a short loop around the preserve.

The blue-purple camas spikes shimmer in the breeze like a wave across open meadows and white oak savanna. As you get closer, the vivid yellow stamens shine in bright complement to the purple. Camas are native perennials, which I’d never heard of until I moved to the Pacific Northwest. They grow in swampy grasslands which means you’re sure to get a little muddy when you go out looking. That happened at Lacamas Park last month when we were too early for the camas. My shoes are still not cleaned up.

A passing jogger asked if we were in a photography class; she runs through the preserve everyday, and had never seen so many people with cameras. I pointed out that the flowers were at peak, had she noticed? Clearly not a nature buff. A small group from the nearby high school filed past as their teacher identified birds just from their songs. Smart teacher, I told those kids, wishing I’d had that sort of instruction way back when. Would I have listened though?

An osprey nest sits on top of a cell tower on a nearby cliff, and the osprey have been returning continually for 26 years. One circled high overhead, but that was the closest we got. Birdsong accompanied us the whole way, but the birds rarely made a showing. Alan got a few though, and beautiful bloom pics as well – check out his photoblog.

The name camas comes from a Perce Nez word meaning “sweet.” Back then the bulbs were plentiful, a rich source of food and trade for the natives. Then the abundance was lost to development, with whole prairies plowed under. Seeing these flowers in full bloom was once a common sight; now it seems like a shrine to the past, and we wander around with cameras, oohing and ahhing, looking in between for other precious blooms.

It was a satisfying immersion into color and texture, fresh air and breath. What else can I say? I hope you too get to see a profusion of wildflowers like this. It is indeed sweet.

P.S. Afterward, out of curiosity we visited nearby Clackamette Park to see where the Clackamas River empties into the Willamette. The actual point of confluence was hidden by brush and obstacles, so it was less than satisfying, but fun to see so many fishing boats out on a weekday morning.