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look at the colors, man
Mar. 20th, 2010 05:19 amAs our greatest native author, Ursula Le Guin, has noted, California is an austere place. The hills of the central part of the state are dry brown grass, spotted with occasional oak trees. Visitors and newcomers find it bleak and uninviting. People who live here like it: you have to, or you couldn't stand to stay.
All this is true except for a couple months in the late winter and spring, particularly after years with heavy late rainfall, like this one. Suddenly all the hills are green: normal in some places, but a stunning transformation here. And the wildflowers come out for a brief visit.
Then's the time to head out to the hills and admire the scenery. So that's what I did yesterday. Don't ask me the names of these plants, except for the orange California poppies. (Be thankful I was alone: I have the irritating habit of cackling "Poppies!" every time I see some.) There were stalk-like purple flowers. There were tiny little white flowers, and equally tiny little yellow flowers. On the low foothills and in remote valleys, the yellow flowers covered the fields in profusion, looking from a distance as if a swarm of giant bees had unloaded their pollen on the landscape. Normally dry creeks were flourishing; just above one verdant rushes-choked pool, I dipped my eyeglasses to clean off the bbq sauce that had overenthused itself at lunch.
We have a lot of very remote back country above San Jose, and it's good to get out in it once in a while. The rare outburst of vegetation was a worthy excuse.
All this is true except for a couple months in the late winter and spring, particularly after years with heavy late rainfall, like this one. Suddenly all the hills are green: normal in some places, but a stunning transformation here. And the wildflowers come out for a brief visit.
Then's the time to head out to the hills and admire the scenery. So that's what I did yesterday. Don't ask me the names of these plants, except for the orange California poppies. (Be thankful I was alone: I have the irritating habit of cackling "Poppies!" every time I see some.) There were stalk-like purple flowers. There were tiny little white flowers, and equally tiny little yellow flowers. On the low foothills and in remote valleys, the yellow flowers covered the fields in profusion, looking from a distance as if a swarm of giant bees had unloaded their pollen on the landscape. Normally dry creeks were flourishing; just above one verdant rushes-choked pool, I dipped my eyeglasses to clean off the bbq sauce that had overenthused itself at lunch.
We have a lot of very remote back country above San Jose, and it's good to get out in it once in a while. The rare outburst of vegetation was a worthy excuse.
