It is the end of March and a warm, sunny spring day. Just joking. Its snowing.
The hill closes after this weekend – which means the onset of MUD SEASON. Mud season is the Sun Peaks substitute of what others call “Spring.” It is unpredictable, often nasty, and interminable. If we are good, we may hope to perhaps see the sun in April. If we are lucky, we may catch sight of the grass of our lawns again come May. And if all the stars align, our favourite walking paths might be passable again come June. While I am hopeful for all of this, experience has now taught me to expect sharp winds, driving rain/snow and mucky sloop that will make our dog (thus our house) filthy for the next three months.
On the plus side, its quiet. If you like quiet then this may be your season. Boy, do we have quiet for you. And mud.
To celebrate this change of season I present to you the final winter scene of this year. Unless I have done a super bad job anybody from around here will recognize it as Whitecroft Falls. We walk there a lot because it is magical. Not just the falls at the end, but the path which runs through a narrowly carved gorge along a rushing creek. What makes it magical, though, also makes it difficult to distill into a painting. It is dark and profuse in there; a lush microclimate set in a otherwise dry pine forest. And it never stays the same in there from season to season, day to day. The light looks different, the trees, the lay of the falls. I wonder… if I went for a walk there today, what would I find? Probably mud. Maybe I will wait awhile.
Whitecroft Falls in the New Year, Acrylic on Canvas, 16 x 20 inches