Summer is too soon upon us with blistering afternoons and parched hillsides. June is the month to truly enjoy the last of the spring blossoms, searching creekside trails for bold Washington lilies and scampering up open hillsides for patches of brilliant yellow arnica, tarweed, and balsamroot. The creek canyons boast radiant white showers of ocean spray and mock orange, while shy red osier dogwood peeks out from streamside thickets.

It’s a great time to stretch one’s legs and lungs on the trails so near and dear. A hike along the the Zigler Trail is a journey through a tunnel of fragrant blooms. As one leaves the manicured estate of the Britt Grounds and heads west along the gentle grade, the smells of early summer drive into forgetfulness the not-so-long-ago memories of winter soils transformed to aromatic mud by our too seldom rains. The remnants of Jackson Creek below the trail, soon to be waterless, hardly provide for background music above the steady stream of vehicles across the canyon.

Looping up onto Britt Ridge Trail, the smells become warmer. Douglas fir resin from new growth at branch tips provides rich counterpoint to the subtle acidic tannins in the fresh shimmering leaves of the white oaks. Here, the upland trails are flanked by tall grasses that hide the shyer blooms of larkspurs and lupines. But away from the traffic sounds, one appreciates the warm buzz of pollinators and the chittering of birds.

Farther west and north, in the vast expanse of Forest Park, the abandoned reservoir recedes and disappears, while water in its gravels seeps through the base of the old dam and provides a steady trickle in the Jackson Creek Wetlands below, watering the verdant richness along the Pond Loop Trail. Iron laden from forgotten waterlines, the upper pools and their rusty appearance are adorned with a cacophony of frogs in early morning and late evening. A gentle loop path and ample seating provides for contemplation beneath the rich warm waxy aroma of our ‘Balm of Gilead’—the towering cottonwoods. Birdsong punctuates the often still air, the canyon breezes interrupted by the towering edifice of a dam from another age.

Farther along, the upper reaches of the Jackson Creek Watershed will hold trickles and pools of surface water throughout the coming summer. Any hike up the three forks of the creek brings one into a world of ferns and mosses. Late calypsos (lady slippers orchids) and shy monkeyflowers replace the trilliums as the predominant blooms in the moist canyons. Looping up into the open forests of the hillsides and ridges, one is surprised by the often still warmth of early summer. The pause seems pregnant—a waiting period before the imminent arrival of summer’s blast. Soon, the early morning and late evening hiker will seem the wise one, but who can resist the temptation to find a sunny viewpoint to luxuriate at and simply soak it all in?

This is why we’re out there at every chance, taking memories and leaving tracks.