17. So Goes February

February brought our canyon an abundance of rain.  That is not so commonplace so we welcomed it.  The view from our cottage on Gopher Hill this time of year holds special promise.  The dark green leaves of the iris are up about four inches, not tall enough to wave back at us, but letting us know they are just about ready for a feeding. Each spring we think we will mark which area has the purple with white ruffled edge or the orange sherbet.  We probably have twenty colors in all.  We always talk ourselves out of it though, it's just such fun to be surprised.

Across the meadow several wild turkeys are coming down Mr. Olson's long driveway.  The males puff themselves up with their tail feathers spread wide.  They sway from side to side desperately trying to outdo each other to impress the dowdy little females.  Spring will bring the fruits of their labors, little brown fluff balls herded along under the watchful eyes of their mothers.

Staring dreamily out the window, I wonder how we ever managed to live in town.  I suppose if you've always lived in town, you wouldn't miss what you'd never experienced.  Although, I remember going on long Sunday drives, when you could afford to do that, and Bob and I would talk about how nice it might be to live on one of those tree lined rural roads.  Life seemed to slow there, even rejuvenating. In fact, life does seem to move more slowly now that we live in the country.  It's only when we go to town that I'm reminded how fast paced things are, how important that particular parking space is and which line in the check out is the shortest.  

I'm thankful that this time in our lives can be spent in the quiet beauty of this canyon.  We never resent the seventeen mile drive to town.  It forces us to relax and be in the moment.  Depending on the time of year, sometimes we stop and try to count the wild turkey or the deer that come to hold conference in the wheat field about two miles from us. The farmer always leaves an acre or two uncut just for them.  It pays to be  watchful and drive slowly because deer tend to dart across the road in a hurry not wanting to be late for lunch.

The Central Coast of California has a very temperate predictable climate.  We don't usually have the opportunity to experience the dramatic change of seasons.  Our canyon, however, is a micro climate.  The canyon is a good 10 to 15 degrees colder in the winter than in town.  The ridge of hills that makes up the canyon protects us from the wind that comes from the ocean and sweeps across the farm fields.  In the fall the vineyards turn color and some of our trees do the same.  The Sycamores drop leaves the size of dinner plates.  They love to take up residence under the bent willow furniture on our front proch, the wind propelling them like kites.

Rainy days are somehow comforting.  Most out-of-doors projects are put on hold.  It makes one think about cozy things like hot chocolate and brownies.  The kind of brownies that stay just a little gooey, full of pecans and covered with a snowy white dusting of powdered sugar.  How could one pass up the perfect opportunity to be so decadent?  I can't imagine!  Why, that would be almost un-American!