We have a tradition up here at Camas Meadows.<\/p>\n
The first flowers of spring belong to Grandma Autumn. There is still enough snow on the ground for my sons to dig snow tunnels, although\u00a0I see\u00a0bare patches beneath the trees. But spring is here. The first flowers never appear up on the top of the hill where Winter’s grasp takes so long to loosen. They push through the loam on the banks of Camas Creek Road as it twists up the mountain toward the meadow. For the whole month of March and sometimes into April, we drive by these sunny roadside banks at 5 miles per hour looking for splashes of yellow. Finally the day arrives. Bright yellow pine lilies appear on the banks and we gather the first few blooms of spring for my grandmother, Autumn Griffith, one of the camp’s founders.<\/p>\n
When the first blossoms finally came this year, I handed the small bouquet to my youngest son and he took off like a shot, barefoot and coatless, for Grammy’s house. Because she had been waiting for this moment\u00a0all month.<\/p>\n
Just so you know, it is spring now at Camas Meadows. It may not look like it. But soon the melt will reach the top of the mountain and we will have flowers of our own blanketing the forest floor.\u00a0Even though\u00a0my boys are busy digging forts in the snow banks, we are confident\u00a0that the advent of spring has occurred.\u00a0The pine lilies have been found and presented to Grandma Autumn. The rest of the season is soon to follow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Boo Boo<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We have a tradition up here at Camas Meadows. The first flowers of spring belong to Grandma Autumn. There is still enough snow on the ground for my sons to dig snow tunnels, although\u00a0I see\u00a0bare patches beneath the trees. But … Continue reading