I had heard about the tulip festival in Skagit Valley when we moved here and every time I heard about it, it was spoken with excited, almost hushed tones. Not hushed in an attempt to hide something, but that soft, delicate voice we sometimes use when we’re talking about an experience that feels like a rarity in it’s rawest form.
So when we drove a couple of hours north and stepped foot into a tulip forest, I heard those voices again and they all made sense. The excitement, the happiness and the gratitude for the opportunity to see so many beautiful flowers in all different forms all in one place.
Bri and I walked around and took our time studying each tulip + daffodil closely, declaring our favorite ones. We started finding our loved ones in the tulips — “oh, my Grandma would love these” or “Bri, these are your Mom’s favorites.” Bri decided he loved the Kung-Fu tulip and I found a double daffodil with soft oranges and flowing white petals that made me feel like a kid running free during my East coast summers. I later found that flower was named “My Story”. I smiled at how fitting that felt.
After we walked through the rows of tulip fields we walked to the tent to purchase bulbs for ourselves and our families. We eventually had to put the catalogue away because we kept adding new beauties to our pile.
This has always been my favorite part of moving some place new. Not only learning and experiencing new places but learning about myself in the process. The process has become the most important part and something we’re both learning to lean into, to enjoy. For a destination driven person, that’s been a struggle for me.
But flowers have the power to change just about anything.
With love + meraki,