Summer Flowers

FIRST FLOWER

Justin points out the first flower of spring, a light purple pasqueflower. It grows on the hill in Mr. Jim’s yard of the way to the mailbox. During the day it opens revealing a bright yellow center. In the late afternoon it closes and the flower hangs down the hill in a long bell shape revealing a hairy stem and leaves.

DOWN THE HILL

In Lakewood poppies and irises brighten my day as we deliver school supplies for Books for the Barrios. The poppies are as big as my hand and fire engine red. They are tall and move back and forth in the breeze as if whispering secrets to each other.

The woman that coordinates Books for the Barrios has a house sitting high on a ridge. Bright yellow irises have spread around and between the rocks on the steep hillside in her backyard.

WALKING THE LAKE

Field Bindweed weaves its messy carpet of blossoms along the edge of the trail around Evergreen Lake. The foliage isn’t pretty, but the white funnel-shaped flowers opening in the sun catch your eye as your sneaker skims the air inches above. On closer examination you see the mat is held firmly to the ground and the stems of the plant weave themselves around other plants and rocks.

Plants at the lake come in a wide variety, some loving the water, others loving the rocks and packed earth of the trails. The cattails that line the marsh side are dotted with red-winged black birds. Their shrill call and small splash of red on the top of each wing is a bright contrast to the brown ducks checking out the bottom water below. Sometimes a catch a glimpse of a red creature that looks like a little lobster scurrying from sight as a approach on the trail.

Near the lake house clumps of purple irises grow. They are the foreground for the beautiful mountains behind the lake. Your eye focuses on the flowers and then drift off into the purple repeated in the mountains and sky. I always stop to look at the mountains when we head to the parking lot. They are so big and dramatic they at once I feel small and large.

BACK AT HOME

A nine point buck was eating some of the lilac bush outside the study window. When I got up and walked to the window he didn’t seem afraid. Turning to look at me we were less than three feet apart. 

I bought three Geranium, Brookside plants for the front of the house. They are hybrid Geraniums. The flowers have bright pink/violet veins that attract bees by reflecting ultraviolet light. In the afternoon they almost glow. The stems grow in long tangled masses with lots of wildflowers. They look like unkempt bushes of wildflowers. When the bees land on the stems or the wind blows the plant ripple with waves. The large black bodies of bees stand out in contrast to the bright cupped flowers.

This geranium’s vivid blue flowers that last into fall. The plant is a hardy perennial that will come back year after year. I’ll have plants to divide and share with neighbors.

Evergreen Lake in Summer

Walking the short one-mile loop around Evergreen Lake I enter the world of nature even though I’m in the heart of town. The wildlife in and around the water keep my eyes busy searching the landscape for movement, they don’t stray to the small highway circling one side of the lake.

I begin at the large log Lakehouse on the west side of the lake. The Lakehouse is owned by Evergreen Parks and Recreation, which hosts special events there throughout the year. Tall, large windows face into the lake taking in the beauty of the water while giving the building a church like appearance.

This part of the lake will host skating in the winter. I look forward to skating with my family on a frozen lake for the first time in a few months. I know skating first began around 1940 on this lake and even though that was over 60 years ago I feel a connection to the past as I follow in the footsteps of others who have loved this lake.

At first the path is wide to funnel people, small sailboats, or small fishing boats down to the shore. Blue spruce trees line the path and give off a resinous odor. Ducks form small groups of four or five and swim around on unseen roads.

Sleek black cormorants float on the water and periodically dive under the water. I watch anxiously for them to reappear for what seems like a long time. When they resurface they resume floating as if they’d never been gone.

I head east pass several maintenance sheds to a long wooden building that houses a nature center and rents paddle boats and kayaks. It is still early morning so everything is closed. I walk along the docks listening to the water lap against the boats and feel the waves pulse below my feet. Here the water smells a little fishy and I wonder how many fishermen visit each day.

The path quickly narrows as a leave the docks. The path isn’t manicured; powdery gray soil and small gravel mark the footpath bordered with wildflowers mingling with tall grasses. The lake is great for walkers, runners and serious hikers use other nearby parks that allow them speed and freedom. Paths angle down the steep slope to bare areas against the shoreline where fishermen are stationed with ice chests, dogs, and family members. My wrong turns go unnoticed, as the fishermen remain focused on the water.

The main path heading to the dam has several thin wooden bridges. Here I nod as I pass a few other hikers out to enjoy the morning. Beneath one bridge I see something move in the water. A very long fish with teeth, a tiger muskie, is heading into the sun. Posted signs say any caught less than 36 inches must be immediately returned to the water. This fish was introduced into Colorado lakes in the 1980s to control other species and to give fishermen a trophy size fish. I’m excited to see such a large fish, one that can weigh over 40 pounds, that dwarfs the brown or rainbow trout I usually see.

The water before the dam is usually calm because the end of the lake is shielded by hills across the street running behind Main Street in downtown. In the afternoon boats at this end of the lake have to paddle to find the wind.

More cormorants line the top of the dam on the east end of the lake. They sit on the edge as if permanently affixed as the water rushes under them.
I walk down the steps behind the spillway; the water is loud, a light spray of water rises in a white mist, and a slightly musty smell waits at the bottom where the sun encourages algae growth. Here Cub Creek comes from the south to join Bear Creek, and the ice-cold water continues east under a bridge heading off behind buildings in downtown Evergreen.

Coming back up to lake level I see the highway. I keep my eyes looking down at the lake and walk quickly to escape eye contact with the people passing in cars. I know I’m in the middle of the city, but right now I want to continue enjoying nature without interruption. Only the smell of car exhaust is hard to block out. Soon I’m on the north side of the lake where Bear Creek enters and the marshes begin. Red-winged black birds sit sunning in the tall cattails, the bright red on their wings stand out against the green grasses and water.

Walking over a bridge something else red catches my eye. A large crayfish over 4 inches long heads out of the grass. It looks more like a little lobster than the small brown crayfish I’m use to seeing in Texas. I pull my camera out to record his progress, but before I can focus he ‘s under the bridge as if intentionally avoiding having his photo taken. Even though this area has many marsh features the cold running water in the area gives off no stagnant water odors.

At the end of the marsh I come back to the Lakehouse and turn for a one last look down the lake. I see a serious wave of walkers begin their circle. Since we moved to Evergreen at the first of the year I’ve enjoyed this walk many times. It is short and I can enjoy it alone or with my family. In a few weeks as fall arrives I will learn what changes a new season will bring.

Walking back in to the parking lot I notice the golf course is busy and carts are traveling across the well manicured grass. The golf course comes right up to the lake, but the golfers ignore the lake and its visitors the same way we ignore them. I’m glad the elite of Denver invested in Evergreen and started the Mountain Park System in the early 1900s. The money created fast economical growth, and later protection of the natural resources. How wonderful that when there isn’t time to hike the mountains and be alone with nature I can come to this man-made lake and get a quick nature fix.

April snow

Not native, that’s me. I heard the term on a recent wildflower walk and realized, yep that describes me. This year our family moved from Dallas, Texas where I was born and lived for over five decades--where I was native--to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains west of Denver, Colorado.

At first moving was only about physically relocating to latitude 39 degrees, 36 minutes, and 10 seconds north of the equator; longitude 105 degrees, 19 minutes and 17 seconds west of the Prime Meridian; elevation 7700 feet . Four months later I realize our new place doesn't automatically feel like home just because we've wanted to live here for years; now moving is about becoming a part of our new place. Our house is unpacked but my spirit is still figuring out where it is.

Each morning I wake seeing Mt Evans' peak through the tall ponderosa pines behind our house. Since our arrival in February several times I’m also greeted by snow that has fallen during the night, usually leaving 3 or 4 inches that quickly melts by mid-morning. The winter snow it a light powder that makes no sound as you walk through it. When the mule deer run through snow clouds of white swirl up from the ground. If the snow continues into the day it covers the backs of the deer as they sit behind our shed turning them to white stone until the sun comes out. At this altitude the sun is very bright and the snow vanishes quickly leaving small islands of white in pockets of shade; everywhere else the sandy ground dries quickly.

This has been a month of wet snow. Instead of snow falling it rains snow. During the largest storm the tree branches fill with mounds on snow until only a little of the dark trunks can be seen. The second afternoon of the storm I take a yardstick onto the deck and measure 24 inches of the snow. Two hours later it is only 20 inches as the snow settles. By bedtime it is back to 24 inches.

The next morning I measure 30 inches of packed snow. How much that would be unpacked I don’t know. Inside I feel closed in with snow visible out every window and door so I go outside. Shoveling I hear a swoosh, feel something hit my head, and I find myself enveloped in white--- I’ve just learned you don’t have to have sun for the branches to drop their loads, they just reach capacity.

When the wet snow is deep it takes several days to melt. The bark of the ponderosas is full of water and rough plates of rich orange and dark brown stand out against the snow. The intensity of each dark trunk matches the dark green of the pine needles high above; the tree is a unified whole that stretches from earth to sky.

Each day I learn a little more about my new home. The people that live in this area love to share information about the plants and animals. Then I share information with my family and friends so the facts cover me and slowly seep into my being. For years I was a visitor, then an acquaintance, then a want-to-be, now a resident in progress.