In June of 1987, our realtor brought us back to the property at 7530 288th St NE for a second look. We had been uninspired by our first viewing on a cold, dreary January day earlier that same year. And besides, the asking prices of $89,000 was appreciably beyond our budget.
On that early summer’s day, however, the skies were crisply blue while from the canopy of Doug firs and cedars came a cacophony of birdsong. I ventured into the thick native undergrowth of the woodland to get a better feel of the property and its potential for garden making.
On a mound of duffy soil surrounding a rotting stump, I encountered a generous colony of Linnaea borealis in full blossom. As I kneeled down to admire the plant that had long been a favorite, a black-capped chickadee arrived to the stump with a fat grub in its beak and entered a hole to a chorus of hungry nestlings inside. We made an offer on what would become Heronswood that evening.
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Yesterday, March 10th, was the first day of 2007 that I sensed spring. It is curious how it happens so suddenly and irrepressibly. I listened to music on my Radio Shack headphones during my early morning six miles through the surroundings of Indianola. While still in the tall wood not far from our house, the unmistakable song of a robin forced its way into my headset. I paused for a moment and pretended to tie my shoe strings while contemplating the degree of emotion that this fetching song has carried. 