New Year's Day low-stress photo drop
Winter/summer paired shots
This time of year, the real sun is nearly as melancholy and washed out as the garden art above.
On this first morning of the year it is 34°F, with a west wind whipping the moisture-filled air this way and that. Anyone who spends a lot of time outdoors in this season quickly learns there is no direct link between temperature and comfort. For me, a completely calm 28° is preferably to current conditions. Once temps go below freezing long enough for moisture to drop out of the air, it actually feels warmer. Take away the wind and 28° feels balmy.
Conditions outside right now are uncomfortable, but could be worsened by sleet or rain and the 30 mph gusts that are predicted for later. It’s a good day for hibernation, contemplation, and looking at photos from the growing season. If I had seed catalogs I’d be perusing them for sure, but they have yet to arrive.
In lieu of words that demand brainpower to process, I offer readers photos of Turtle Paradise. Each winter photo below is paired with one taken in spring or summer from approximately the same vantage point.
The herb bed, looking north
The original banana colony
Each year as the tulips fade, I plant chili peppers and herbs in this repurposed stock tank
Though I have witnessed this transformation for multiple years, it remains a miracle.
Just outside the kitchen door
Front yard shade perennial bed
I love large plants and vertical structures
The most notable aspect of the winter photos is their similarity, with the same drab colors dominating each one. The silver lining of this monotonous landscape is the small details previously hidden by foliage or eclipsed by summer blooms that can now be spotted by the patient and determined eye. There are colors beyond dull browns and greens quietly waiting to be found. I’ll be sharing them next time.
Just looking at the photos puts me in a thoughtful mood – the flow of life, where every time of growth is followed by stillness, and every lush season gives way to barrenness. Fullness fades into emptiness, and seeds hidden in the soil eventually sprout, becoming exactly what they were meant to be. The earth gives when it's ready, and when it’s not, it stays as it is.
Life feels the same – times of ease are met with hardship, health with sickness, and joy with sadness. It’s as if life quietly says, “Pay attention, because one day you’ll pass through these seasons too.”
In spring, flowers bloom without holding back, filling the air with color and fragrance. Summer brings abundance, overflowing with life. When autumn arrives, the trees let go of their leaves without regret, standing bare but calm. Then winter comes, and everything rests – quiet and still, waiting for what’s next.
There’s something to learn from this – to give freely when life is full, to grow when the time is right, and to accept stillness when it’s time to reflect. Like trees dropping their leaves, we let go of parts of ourselves as we grow older, keeping only what truly matters. One day, we return to the earth, and what we’ve planted along the way becomes our legacy.
It reminds me of the verse:
"The good land produces plants by the permission of its Lord, but the land that is bad produces little, with difficulty. This is how We explain the signs for those who are grateful." (Quran 7:58)
Nature mirrors our own lives, yet at the same time shows us – be good while you stand, be generous while you grow, and let go gracefully when the time comes. It’s not about how long we stay, but how well we live, how strong our roots are, and how much we give while we’re here. What we plant and care for will shape the story of our lives, the harvest that will remain long after we’re gone.
That's what I hate about California: We never have never a good excuse for hibernation or contemplation.