A FOND FAREWELL

A first rite of spring is the time my husband pays tender attention to this clematis.

He tenders it through the first stages of climbing, and even sometimes guides how it attaches to the trellis.

The colorful blooms bring joy at our front door all summer long.

Now there is nothing left but the seed heads:

But they have a type of beauty too:

One single faded, but resolute blossom:

INTO THE WILDflowers!

Such luck!  Pat and I scheduled a day at Mt. Rainier quite a bit in advance.  The day we "drew" had everything in its favor: sunshine, warmth, and - we couldn't have ordered it better - one of the peak wildflower times!

Once we were on The Mountain's narrow, winding road to Paradise (one of two high, end-of-the-road places), we "oooh"-ed and "aahh"-ed at the back-lit beards of moss practically reaching over the road to touch us.  They certainly did tickle our fancy!

Our first peek at the Peak.  Little did we know the summit would play peek-a-boo with us all day.

Mostly it was shrouded in clouds all day.

Around here we say, "The Mountain is out", or - "not".

That day, it was not, but because our hopes were pinned on seeing wildflowers, that really did not ruin our day at all.

One last telephoto look at a glacier:

An old fire area:

This is upper Christine Falls, on the road to Paradise:

And the lower falls - a study in light and dark -  reached by a short but steep walk through the woods:

"Pot 'o Gold!...rather, Pot 'o Silver

at Narada Falls:

Above Paradise, we thought we were in Heaven what with fields upon fields thick with wildflowers.

Part of the Tattoosh Range is in the background:

Mixed bouquets were scattered from below Paradise to the highest alpine meadow:

In all my hiking and return visits on The Mountain, I have never seen lupine in such abundance:

I told Pat as we hiked that it appeared as if a giant had used a spray can of blue to paint the meadows in great arcs and sweeping motions:

Lower Myrtle Falls:

Happy Trails:

We passed a pair of burly hikers on this higher trail, and overheard one guy say to the other in a seriously philosophical way, "I heard that if you stand in meadows like this, close your eyes and inhale, you will be filled with giddy ecstasy."  First of all, it gave us a chuckle to hear such sensitive words from a would-be mountain man, and secondly, we certainly didn't have to close our eyes to experience the ecstasy offered by the collective fragrance of sun-warmed wildflowers. It was something one could almost taste, and I did understand, "drink it all in." 

A climber's stone hut:

Orange Paintbrush:

Blue gentian - a shy and elusive flower:

Back down the slopes, clouds dipped for a moment:

Tattoosh Range:

White Sitka Valerian:

Mount Rainier's Mariposacopper:

As we departed, darker fog gave an interesting effect to the bright-white mountain:

ROYAL WILDFLOWERS

This is the season for Queen Anne's Lace.

Roadsides, pathways, and pastures are all wearing pinafores over their

dried and faded summer clothing:

From buds ...

... to full-blown, 

the blossoms appear in all shapes and styles:

Mother Nature does "piercing" best:

Antiquated dandelion will probably persevere until the first frost:  

Another unseasonable surprise at the feet of the Queen Anne's Lace, a hardy clover:

Chicory blooms  like bright blue embroidery on the lace:

Reward for the early-morning photographer!

AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT

 I had spotted these morning glories climbing the fence at our local steam train "graveyard" display a few days earlier, but could not stop to make the photo.

I really wanted to capture the fresh blooms, delicate against the backdrop of massiveness and rusty paint. The morning I returned I was in luck, because this time the sun was at exactly the right angle to give a refurbishing intensity to the old metal.

I had never seen these relics with such a fervent presence.

Sun complimented the complementary colors:

In this part of the Northwest, things can grow just about anyplace.  This is the land of "nurse trees" in rain forests, and of saplings sprouting from fence posts and from cracks in concrete.

I had stopped to photograph the morning glories, but as I strolled the length of the old iron horses, I chuckled to see green things growing from the rust:

A sapling in the middle:

Ferns and moss and rivets:

There is beauty in improbable places

... and remarkable color too.  Here, the siding of a rail car has aged to resemble a child's finger-painting:

The sun that morning was the choreographer for a brief show just for me.

I pass by the line of trains nearly every day, and I have not seen the life I saw in them that morning, before or since.