Part of me belongs in the desert. We got back from Osoyoos a couple nights ago and I’m willing myself to remember the exact scent and shade of sagebrush, the way the mist rolls through those vineyard lined valleys, and the dappled glow of sunlight through the orchard rows. There is so much beauty to breathe in. My first morning Oliver and I woke up while the world was still sleeping. We went for a little walk admiring the trees perfectly mirrored in the lake and the jumping fish disturbing its placid glass. I am so enamored with the way mist makes hills look like watercolor layers, as though we’ve stepped into a painting. The mist soon evaporates to dusty, aromatic air and sundrenched earth. My first freckles always pop on Memorial Day weekend. Thunderstorms come through to replace the heat and sun with pink lightning above the mountains, rainbows over the lake, and a froth of foam along the water’s edge. Monday Beau and I went for our drive up to our favorite spot. Thistles about to burst, big yellow sun-chokes, a spry deer, and the sweeping beauty of a dry land erupting in flower and color from the recent rain. I went for a bike ride on our last day past the tallest, fluffiest clover I’ve ever seen with big purple orbs reaching up for the sun. The drive home took us through lush green Okanagan hills that reminded me of the isle of Skye, with pretty lupin popping up among the meadow brush. This trip not only brings me back to my roots in family every year, with little cousins playing sweetly with my boys, prayer and chats with my cousins, and lots and lots of yummy FOOD (what Spiro’s do best), but it also opens up a chasm in me that longs for freedom and open road. A dry place that’s watered just enough to sprout and grow for the rest of the year.