Watching the Spring

               Yesterday, Mark and I walked up to Chip Ross Park. It’s about six miles, round trip, through neighborhoods and then fields as we climb the hill. We passed a field of naturalized daffodils—thousands of them—growing under invasive Scotch Broom, a broken stone watering tank, and a path under a patch of Douglas Fir. Toothwort and buttercups bloomed on the hillside.

 When we crested the hill and emerged near the park, a man on a bike rolled by us. “At Least we can still go outside!” he called back to us. “And eat dinner,” I called back and we all laughed. And that was the tone of the entire park. Families strolled up the gravel paths to the peak, small children stopping to look at the water streaming downhill. Couples sat on the benches, looking out over the valley. One woman tried to capture the beauty of the bare branches against the deep blue sky. Everyone made eye contact and smiled. Mark and I pointed out the Fawn Lily budding out next to the trail. It was a celebration of the beauty of the day.

On the way downhill, I stopped to examine a pussy willow in bloom and realized that the universe has given me a huge gift of time. I have time this year to watch the spring come into the Willamette Valley, to track blooms and garden growth, watch buds swell on the trees, to turn the earth over to see what is happening underneath. Time.  Would I rather be teaching my classes, attending meetings, not worried about the public health crisis? Yes, of course. But, I can’t. So I am going outside to watch the spring coming in. Feel free to come along.