Winter Growth

5 December 2019 – “Winter growth” is not quite the oxymoron it sounds, even if some things — daylight hours, for example — definitely contract in this season. Some other things increase.

Cats grow more fur.

And Vancouver trees grow more moss.

Everywhere you see trees packing on the moss, including downtown streets like this one.

Porch Guy is eyeing me, and I spend a nano-second or two wondering if he would be reassured or insulted to learn I am taking a picture of the tree, not him…

Who cares, back to the moss. Moss spreading down tree trunks right to the curb-side ground …

fattening branches to shaggy splendour …

creating mossblots …

snuggling down with other moss-family relations and a lichen or two …

and popping up in emerald bubbles against streaky bark.

The scene is just as luxuriant, and a lot more lyrical, out at the VanDusen Botanical Garden. (It also lets me look like I know what I’m talking about, since most trees are tagged.)

Red Maples compensate with moss for their loss of leaves …

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and a Black Elder flashes green against the dramatic backdrop of rusty orange across the Garden’s Cypress Pond.

Not surprisingly, there are a lot of Bald Cypress trees in the vicinity, and all that vivid orange is their needlework. They’re no slouch in the moss department either, whether on solid land or growing in the water …

I mean, look closer — even their knobby knees are covered in moss!

In this temperate rainforest climate, winter moss doesn’t just leap all over the trees, it will happily grow on pretty well any wooden surface that presents itself.

Including the shingled rooftop of this temporary Festival of Lights kiosk, in stark contrast to the undulating lines of the Visitor Centre’s permanent rooftop just behind & above.

 

We Make Magic

2 December 2018 – In the very smallest of ways, I have helped make magic.

You take that clear plastic water bottle, and you snip the sides into fringes, and you angle-cut each fringe tip, and you run each fringe backward against the blade of your scissors to make it curl, and

And then you plop it into the waiting barrel, and move on to the next bottle. You are just one member of that shift of volunteers, one little part of an extremely congenial assembly line. Later on, others will insert the light bulbs that turn these water bottles into “flowers.”

This November, I was one of the 250-plus volunteers who helped test lights, shape light receptacles, and generally do the prep for the 34th Festival of Lights, an annual Vancouver event run by the Parks Department at the VanDusen  Botanical Garden. Parks employees then draped all those lights over trees, shrubs, walkways and light standards, across 15 acres of the Garden grounds.

The Festival opened yesterday. The day before that was the dress rehearsal — a preview open to everyone who had helped make it possible.

Preview night, Frances & I are there! (She did many more volunteer shifts than I, but we are equally excited to see the results.)

We see familiar sculptures (here, Michael Dennis’ Confidence) in a new context …

and Livingstone Lake sparkling with more than its own fountains …

and brilliant new end-points for long views down the lake …

and lanterns dancing overhead.

The Preview is like a gigantic family gathering. We all did something-or-other, and everybody looks for signs of their own contribution. “The star at the top of that tree?” cries one young Parks employee to her friends, as she points to an enormously tall conifer. “I was up in the bucket for that one. I placed that star.”

My turn to get all excited when we see the first “flower garden.”

I am almost immediately diverted to the Next Amazing Thing. Namely, two young women who visited a dollar store somewhere, and festooned themselves with light-bulb necklaces.

We take their picture for them; they offer to take ours. We are already wearing Make A Wish Foundation star necklaces, but our new friends offer us extra props, also courtesy of the dollar store.

I wave a holly-trimmed top hat over my head, Frances grabs an elf hat — plus a couple of arrows bearing editorial comments. (She is therefore fully responsible for the resulting character analysis.)

If you think all those competing lights do odd things to the colour of our faces, please observe this heron.

 

This is not a frosted glass etching of a heron. This is a real, live, fishing-for-dinner heron, focused on his own needs in that creek and oblivious to the hullabaloo.

We wander and wander, finally turn back, walking down one side of the R. Roy Forster Cypress Pond. In its Festival illumination, the pond’s walkway seems to hang suspended, equally untethered from sky and water.

Final magic: restorative hot drinks in the café. As usual, its mirror bears a slogan in praise of coffee. This, too, dances with the lights, inside and out.

I’ll almost certainly be back later this month, enjoying it all over again with family. Want to visit it yourself? Book online, to save money and time as well.

  • WALKING… & SEEING

    "Traveller, there is no path. Paths are made by walking" -- Antonio Machado (1875-1939)

    "The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -- Marcel Proust (1871-1922)

    "A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities" -- Rebecca Solnit, "Wanderlust: A History of Walking"

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