Crocuses

Compared to prairie crocuses, which show up in small precious groups in hidden places, the ones we grow from bulbs on the West Coast are right out there and  proliferate like mad. They've been given free rein on this lawn; from a distance, it looks like it's been sprinkled with purple confetti. 

A closer look at the crocus lawn just a couple of blocks from my place. The blooms are still going strong after several weeks. What a beautiful treat for the neighbourhood!

Striped crocuses, which are just starting to proliferate in my own garden.

Where I grew up, crocuses were shy, retiring things, glimpses of mauve in fuzzy grey coats. They hid in winter-dried grass on the sunny side of a hill, at the base of a tree or fencepost, magically appearing when the snows finally retreated. If you lived on the prairies, you knew their secret places, and seeking them out was a solemn ritual of spring.

In Vancouver, there is nothing secret or subtle about crocuses. A different creature completely from the drought- and snow-hardy prairie crocus (actually anemone patens), West Coast crocuses  proliferate madly. After poking up in January or February, they provide a long showing of yellow, purple, white and purple-striped blooms.

For some reason, I held off planting crocus bulbs in my Dunbar garden until a few years ago, but this spring, they’ve taken hold and are showing up in all kinds of unexpected spots.  I’m loving their bright clean colours against the winter beds, but they’ve made me remember the subtler pleasures of the crocuses I used to know. A carnival compared to a pilgrimage; a visual blast compared to a quiet, joyous reminder of summer yet to come.

Where did the yellow crocus come from? Did I plant that? One of the pleasures of spring is unexpected discoveries.

A brave little troop of crocuses out to conquer the garden bed.

By the front walk, they're already well established.

Rome diary: luggage

Mr. Darcy checks out my new suitcases. They were the cheapest I could find, but  I'm hoping they will stand up to the rigours of  at least one trip to Rome.

After decades without setting foot on an airplane, it seems I am going to Rome to do essay research next month.  One of the many things you realize when you haven’t travelled for that long is that you will, in fact, need luggage. A mangy old duffel bag stuffed to bursting will not serve for a month in Europe.

If I was young and contemplating a lifetime of travel, I would (if I had money), buy something stylish and strong, long-lasting and elegant. The rule about buying well once would definitely apply.

But for someone at my stage of life with no plans to travel again? Cheap, was the only answer.

Alarmed to learn that a small carry-on case alone could run to $425, I contemplated Craigslist and begging friends for loaners. But the Hudson’s Bay, in one of those eerily timed coincidences, just happened to be having a luggage sale.

I saw some subdued, beautifully elegant luggage with pricetags to match. I saw plenty of luggage that seemed to exceed Air Canada’s size guidelines. I saw some “smart”  luggage that adds electronic complexity to the simple matter of packing a suitcase (it tells you when it’s coming down the baggage carousel, locks remotely, and has a built-in scale – plus it may soon be banned because of the possibility its batteries could explode en route.)

It went against the grain, but I stuck to cheap. I got two blue plastic cases, one for $99.99 and one for $79.99. They’re called “hardside” luggage, and they come with a 10-year warranty, but they seem like just the kind of thing that would crack when flung onto (or under) a pile of other suitcases.

I may be learning some lessons that have nothing to do with Rome on my trip to come.