The Green Season

Bikes. Bikes. Bikes. That’s what I talk about all the time. When I went back and read a couple of my older posts, I found another enduring theme: Weather and the Seasons.

The Betasso Preserve Trails are in great condition

Growing up in Combe Martin, weather was the talk of the town. It changed often. More than anything else in the village’s thousand year plus history. The houses standing on the north devon coast have battled North Atlantic storms day in, day out for centuries. The people walking down the long village street have used the same storms as verbal fodder for just as long. Throwing tidbits of chat back and forth with neighbours about the approaching rain, the view to Wales, and how well the tomatoes are growing in the garden.

Apple blossom / singletrack

Moving to Boulder was not much different. The town – a modern invention planted on top of the foothills for only a couple hundred years – is bisected by the creek. A literal measuring stick of the seasons flowing through the city. As the threat of snow is gently fading, the thunderstorms of spring have brought the water level up in anticipation of the snow melt to follow. Another couple of weeks and the icy flow will challenge its banks on its way out to the plains. As the water has risen, the riparian foliage has transitioned from dry cold brown, to fresh yellowish sprouts, and now on to deep and healthy green on every surface. The trees followed suit shortly after. The empty boughs budding with greenery, yet to reveal their particular brand of blossom. The Apple trees came first. Pure white petals against the green background. Now it’s time for the cherry blossom to follow suit. Bursting pink, with tulips and crocuses to compete against.

Green green grass in Boulder Canyon

I love the green season. The green season in England is an enduring but changing scope of colours washed across the hills. The green season of Colorado is a fleeting parade of colour that quickly and drastically changes the entire county. The barren hills are briefly covered with life, bursting and competing for the meagre flow of water that will dry up as summer hits. It needs to be celebrated and embraced. The thunderstorms that dance across the flatirons should be welcomed for the life they bring.

Only Pansies don't ride in the rain