Some of you will have noticed that my postings here, at the Kitchen Table, have been less frequent in recent weeks. There are reasons for this and just to put some of the worst of the rumors to rest, none of them have to do with me becoming less amused, more docile, and generally out of things to say. 
I’ve had lots to say, it’s just that I’ve been preoccupied with some unexpected emergencies (as if there’s any other kind) close to home and it seems that one sure sign of lunacy would be to give myself over to rants about Tea Partiers or turgid analysis of the value-added tax while the proverbial roof of my life is on fire.
Anyway, the metaphorical fire seems to be under control and this led to a minor epiphany last Thursday. I got up early to travel to a meeting and was heading west into an ominously dark, pounding rain squall. It was like driving through a car wash, only without the soap. Then, as though someone had flipped a switch, I came out of it and suddenly found myself able to see the far horizon beneath high, purple-gray clouds. It was like emerging from under a rock. The low sun came out and I began to notice yellow clumps of arrowleaf balsamroot, like kernels of popcorn, dotting the still beige expanse of the channeled scablands near Sprague. 
“Wow,” I thought to myself, “how did this happen?”
The answer, of course, is spring, or at least this part of spring, the best part, when the eastern Washington landscape explodes with balsamroot and serviceberry blossoms. Having spent a few springs in the southeast, I’d admit it’s hard to top the medley of azaleas and dogwoods. But balsamroot and serviceberry come pretty close. It turns out I’d forgotten my toothbrush, but I did bring my camera.
–Tim Connor
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