A hedge-lined walkway leads through one Oysterville garden.

And then it was gone, the festival, the tour, the heart-warming display of flowers and shrubs, trees and plants, and pathways heavily laden with forget-me-nots and Candelabra primroses and roses — how many dozens? — as well as mint, fennel, parsley. A cornucopia of delights. And those elevated garden boxes with vegetables. The perfect croquet court with the master performer in house with his lovely and talented wife. Here, a tangled circus of colors and smells, mostly greens. It is a slow wet spring. And pots brimming with nature’s best. Hanging and dangling, every color, shape, leaf and petal, all dancing in a soft wind that pressed down the most charming street anywhere, on a Saturday when the spring rains took a pass.

Pull Quote

The world opened with golden rays of sunshine, and where — just where — can it be as pretty as in the Columbia/Pacific when the sun dances out? Isn’t Oysterville a delight, always a delight, always Grandpapa Espy’s road that leads to where?

The hummingbirds arrived. The world opened with golden rays of sunshine, and where — just where — can it be as pretty as in the Columbia/Pacific when the sun dances out? Isn’t Oysterville a delight, always a delight, always Grandpapa Espy’s road that leads to where? Maybe all paths that crisscross this village lead to the heart. I would bet on that. This was Oysterville’s Queen for a Day.

Did I forget the rhododendrons in all their glorious bloom? Did I forget a green pathway that unfurls into a secret garden? Did I forget a single pansy? This was the first — in my extended memory — garden show in this village that crowns the far north corner of the Long Beach Peninsula. Some old timers ordain this real-estate as the North Beach Peninsula. Check the history books — it is there. And the bay known first as Shoalwater and now the Willapa remains a treasure deserving any accolades one might wish to throw about like a handful of flower seeds. This body of water is a natural treasure.

There were five venues, five exquisite gardens — well, nearly — one display was shortened by family illness, but still offered a handsome front yard. Beyond all that, the village beguiled: the church, the waterfront, the Espy residence. The Heckes house. Those tall Cyprus trees. These evergreens reign like tree gods that saw civilizations come and go. I love to imagine ancient cultures as the bay slips back and forth with the tides — as it did for the Chinook people. As it was for the first pioneers. And really, walking down Fifth Street — streets one through four disappeared with the tides — none of that is hard to imagine.

Weren’t the people gracious, those volunteers, those locals, and the generally good nature of those who arrived to revel in a garden’s delight? And the sun stayed out, high and warm in the western sky.

Step forward Nancy Allen. Yes, you had the best of help, that parade of volunteers that always materializes out of the woodwork, that baptizes our Peninsula quietly and gracefully and efficiently, time after time. But let’s be honest, this was your day, Nancy. Please, take a bow.

Isn’t it wonderful to praise a flower, or a nest of flowers, or plants and trees and handsome budding shrubs? We will fill stadiums with fans, chanting for their team, frolicking, drinking and screaming, pumping their fists in the air. But not for a garden tour! Well, let me tell you, this deserved as much adulation as Ken Griffey hitting a home run.

Will there be another event next year? We will see. There will be the annual Peninsula Garden Tour this July 9th. Lucky us — so much beauty for you and me to revel in? Meanwhile, Oysterville is always an inspiration, rain or shine.