Three Wee Heathers

I love heather, which along with a fondness for rocks, goes a long way toward making my life here more fun. Brigadoon and that lilting sentimental song "Walking through the heather on the hill" were the only items stored in the database under "Heather" until I came here. The experience is analagous to my revelation when a painting I had seen only as a postage-stamp size photo in an art history textbook was revealed to me full size on the wall of the art museum in Brussels. It took my breath away. There is no substitute for the real thing in its own habitat.

And so with heather. An individual clump of it is lovely; a hill full of it in any season, but especially when the entire hill is coloured by its flowering will stop you in your tracks. I do not really have favourites--a hill full of purple heather is certainly one of my favourites, but the little, red-tipped lipstick heathers capture my imagination.

So naturally when I saw these three in the garden centre with such names as Leslie Slinger and Tricolorifolia--how could I resist? I'm surprised I came away with only three, but the season is young yet.

The heathers and I are hunkered down inside trying to outwait the fluttering snow-hail that keeps falling out of the sky. The heather and I can be patient. We will have our season.