Pioneer Park's past

In reading about Memorial Park I learned that it was originally a cemetery early in the last century and eventually became neglected and overgrown. When it was decided that the land would be reclaimed, graves were dug up and relocated. But not every resident of the graveyard had a survivor who could approve relocation. In the end there were some remains that could not be moved. These were moved to a “quiet corner” of the park, which I sought out on my visit.

As you can see, the park closely borders a residential area. And this little garden borders the park’s cemetery.

This is what’s left of the cemetery, taken through a wire fence. It’s not a feature of the park that a visitor might stumble into, nor expect. But knowing its history I find it a unique thread back into Sequim’s past.

More Pioneer Park

When I posted twoshots of Pioneer Memorial Park earlier this month someone asked to see more of the park. Today and tomorrow I’ll do just that. Above is a shot along a semi-circular drive that takes visitors in and out of this little 2.5 acre gem. The rhodies were spectacular when I visited, a real treat.

There’s a small building in the park. It and the grounds are run by the Sequim Prairie Garden Club, which uses it for their annual spring plant sale. They also rent it for local events. Two people were using another nearby picnic table when I was there. It’s a beautiful spot to settle down for a visit and enjoy these beautifully manicured grounds on a nice spring day.

Anna’s hummingbird

I love hummingbirds. There are a few places I can reliably see them on my regular walks, most of them too distant for a good shot of these tiny avian powerhouses.

The chin area of the males looks black most of the time, but when they turn just so it is a rich iridescent red. It’s not surprising that this bird is the “cover boy” of “Birds of the Puget Sound Region.” I crept up as close as I could to see if I could catch one of these little fellows showing off the red feathers. You can catch the tiniest bit of it here toward his shoulder.

This is a shot straight out of the camera. “You want some of this iridescence?! Here you go, lady! Now leave me alone!”

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Weekly Top Shot #83

Colors of Sequim


Colors of Sequim is an art materials store that opened on Washington Street several months ago. They provide quality art supplies for serious artists and “starter” supplies for dabblers and young artists. Paint – acrylic, oils, water colors – clay, origami kits, handmade paper, calligraphy, you name it. There’s something for every budding or accomplished artist, and enough fun stuff to inspire any wanna be.

Bridget, one of the co-owners, gave me a tour of the store. In addition to supplies, they offer short classes, which will include childrens’ summer art classes in July and August. There is a small classroom at the back of the store. A schedule is on their website.

This is my favorite spot, a corner set aside for the youngest budding artists. The work of future Rembrandts or Picassos is posted on the wall.

The days of bees and roses

The wild nootka roses are beginning to bloom again. For anyone fond of the adage, “stop and smell the roses” this is cause for celebration. Their scent is classic, heavenly rose. But my human nose wasn’t the only thing enjoying the roses. This bee was having a field day. It was lingering, almost lounging. If it could have rolled in the pollen I think it would have. And if I’d have been able to turn it into a cartoon, the thought bubble would say – with a French accent – “Oh, ma cherie! It has been so long! My heart has ached for the beauty of your soft petals and the sweetness of your pollen! At last! We are together again!” or, you know, something roughly like that.

And which makes me wonder: did you know that only female bees collect pollen?

Barn rerun

I’ve posted this barn before. The first time the perspective could have been better. I was happy to discover a road that provided the angle to better view this beauty.

Bob Clark, whose pioneer family goes back generations in Sequim, tells stories about this, his grandmother’s barn. I believe she may have been a Cline – as in Cline Spit – but I’m relying on memory, which is a weak crutch.