We stepped into these small boats with others from all over the world and motored out of the small harbor.  Around the end to sea caves and arches lit by the bright morning sun and reflected off the white sandy bottoms to highlight the cave ceilings.  The mixture of the two made places glow teal blue.  Our captain expertly maneuvered the craft around so we could peer around us, timing it so that we would enter and exit the cave between the other boats, making it feel as though this was a private tour.  The boat glided in and out just out of reach of the crashing waves against the cave walls.  The crystal clear water was inviting and I longed to plunge in. We rounded one bend after another darting deftly in and out of the caves, from dark to light, cool to warmth, we wove our way along the coast and then back to the harbor.  

 Slipping my headphones on at work, I started up the chocolate grinder and pushed play on my phone app.  The words in my ears were unfamiliar.  The sounds of the letters together were difficult for my tongue to turn over.  I grated the chocolate speaking the words out loud over and over again. I was determined to learn something of the language.  10 words was my goal.  Polite words that I could use when asking for directions or ordering a coffee. My coworkers understood and let me ramble as I practiced these "essential" phrases over and over again.  I practiced them as I vacuumed the house and scrubbed toilets.  My brain felt like mush.  It was hard to retain what I had learned.  How could these simple phrases take so long to remember.  I really didn't need to learn these words since they spoke English and it was an official language used by everyone. However, for some reason I was drawn to learning and using this older language of the people.  It is made up of a conglomeration of languages, Arabic, Aramaic, Italian, and a few others.  The letters are 26 but in reality, there are 30.  I struggled to remember them but a few stuck, thank you very much was one of them; Grazzi ħafna. Our first morning, we took a tour and then climbed a lookout tower.  The sign in the tower asked for a small donation and as we slipped a few coins into the box, I used my Maltese phrase "Grazzi ħafna".  The attendant looked up from his reading as I walked out the door and asked if I was Maltese?  Laughingly I said no, encouraged I tried it again and again over the course of two weeks. I added new words to my small but growing vocabulary each time I talked to someone from the island. What I learned was not so much the vocabulary but how it opened doors to conversations.  Each time I was asked, why do you know Maltese? It was a surprise to them and encouraged them to talk about their language and their lives. Each time they wanted me to learn another expression, sometimes it took, sometimes it didn't but it was always fun to try. Then there was the fact that they had different English sayings. Some of the expressions in English that was used were "Let me tell you," and "Do you understand what I am saying".  Sometimes they interspersed their English words with Maltese words that may have been Italian in origin such as "Allura" meaning naturally or then. When we crossed to Gozo we learned that their dialect was different from Maltese.  Words that I had learned in Malta now had a different pronunciation in Gozo thought they are only 15 miles apart.  With a smile, I was still encouraged to try out words there and they corrected my pronunciation and sought to teach me even more words. My hope is that though I may never be back to Malta, I can retain a bit of what I have learned, that key phrases open doors to practicing which encourages conversations.

 

We stood out in a field with eyes gazing up waiting for the display to start.  Subtle and then striking, more incredible than fireworks and continuous.  Light dancing, streaking, shifting across the sky.  Our eyes not quite able to take in the color present.  Yet we stood in awe, looking up and around, not wanting to miss anything.  Our normal bedtime routines passed as we stood in the dark field marveling that we could see such a sight as this.  

Quietly, the trees wake up with small buds starting to swell.  Almost unnoticeable unless you are looking for it.  A hint of green along the bark and then one morning it appears like someone glued popped popcorn kernels along the branches of the cherry trees.  The trees bloom in succession. Each one in bloom long enough for the next tree to open and start cross pollinating.  The blueberries hang out their bell-shaped pale green blooms in an understated way and the pear tree blooms make their quick appearance.  Small bursts of color ranging from white to pale pink, to coral to a raspberry red make their way across the yard. A new day, a new week, a new tree has put forth its promise of fruit later in the year.  The apple tree dances with color as each grafted in branch blooms just a fraction of a day later than the first as if it is creating a wave.  The presence of the fruit trees gives a permanence to the place because of the time it takes for them to mature and give enough fruit. The stacks of wood for future projects arranged in the background and the ladder waiting for the cherries to ripen make me feel rooted in this spot that is full of promise of gifts to come.



 

It's amazing how people from all over the world even, flock to the valley for the tulips.  There are month long events and bike rides through back roads.  There is a bloom map to show which fields are in full color starting with the first of the daffodils and ending with the last of the tulips.  I started taking the kids each year to see the tulips and making a day of it.  We would tromp through the fields in our rainboots and sometimes with umbrellas, always with my camera and would buy a snack of kettle corn or McDonalds on the way home.  Sometimes we would ride the wagon out to the field or the little train barrels. We'd look at the art, the flowers, and the mud puddles.  The kids have grown and they no longer make them go with me to the fields, so I bribe my husband or go alone.  This year I convinced a friend to go with me and I was in sticker shock.  I don't ever remember paying $17! to go to the show garden before.  There would be no way that I would have paid $70 to take the kids and yet this is the price now.  So what once was almost a annual pilgrimage will change for me.  No longer entering the display gardens but content to photograph the fields that allow me to stop.










 

Like so many mornings when we stay at Cannon Beach, I quietly dressed, grabbed my camera and slipped out the door of our room.  Out on the beach, I kicked off my shoes, leaving them near the stairs and wandered passed Ecola Creek. When we first stayed here, I ran with the speaker's wife.  While she was jumping and skipping the rest of the day, I was in pain slowly walking up and down the stairs, over to the dining hall.  I was early 30s she was early 60s.  Lately though, instead of reaching for my running shoes, instead I reach for my camera since I never know what will inspire me on my daily walk to Haystack Rock.  This particular morning, I was treated to a usual sight for me.  I hear that this is a common occurrence for the residence of the town as the herd of elk will strip gardens and landscaping on their way oceanside.  In the predawn hours, I noticed a stag step tentatively out from a group of tall evergreens lining a street.  Nose in the air and swinging his head back and forth searching for signs of danger. Moving slowly down the sandy dune, the rest of the heard emerged.  He stopped as if he was a crossing guard while the cows and their calves meandered towards the waves.  The young practiced their fighting skills on their hind legs. They moved slowly and the stag, on guard.  Suddenly a cow breaks from the heard with her calf trying to keep up. The stag gives chase, passing and then turning her back towards his herd.  Tries again and again and each time, he gives chase, trying to keep them together.  Slowly they  worked their way to the tall wild grass growing on the dunes and disappeared.  Later towards evening, they made their way back across the beach while families flew kites, children splashed in the water and wood was being stacked for late night bonfires. But there was something magical and almost personal watching them in the early morning hours that made getting out of bed worth it.