Local Wonders

 

February is our time to “explore” local towns and trails.  There’s not so much to do in the yard and the weather is too challenging to travel far, so we roam near-by downtowns and the trail network right outside of town.

On Saturday, we went to Salem—the state capitol. It has a lot of “rural culture” on the outskirts and a fairly nice downtown, which is a blend of high end and sketchy businesses.  We ate at Wild Pear—packed but well-staffed and tasty—and wandered through a furniture store to look at the lamps when the cold rain started.  When the clouds lifted, we walked across a new bridge on the riverfront to an island that had once been a sawmill and is now a conservation area. It’s a wide network of trails, all within sight (and sound) of downtown.  Red winged black birds called to one another across the wetlands. Ducks quacked.  Mark also wanted to visit the German cake shop Konditorei, which is right outside of downtown. You walk past the cement bunker of City Hall and the public library, a cool park with a constructed waterfall, and several massage parlors, and there it is.  Huge cakes.  Happy kids. It was a good visit; leaving home for a few hours to wander somewhere no one knows you and you do not know what is around each corner breaks the patterns of your mind in positive ways.

Today we took a friend and walked on the Cardwell Hill trail network, which wanders along and above the Mary’s river for several miles. It’s a gravel road and trail, so little mud, and it is always quiet. A few bike riders, a few dog walkers, but mostly just us. There’s a steep climb at the beginning that can be intimidating but we know how long it lasts now and just head on up. In February, there are no wildflowers blooming yet, so we look at the fat mosses and lichens hanging from branches, consider the impact of the ice storm on the trees, and stare across the valley and the doug fir forest.  Just as we crested the hill, we came to a small bubbling puddle, about four inches across. The water was neither flowing in or out, but bubbles were coming up from somewhere underneath. We watched it in wonder for several minutes coming and going. What are we seeing?

February is a hard month. Just the dailyness of it all… the rain, the mud, the clouds, the endless round of grading papers or fixing software bugs, the slow decline into greens and squash for dinner  every night because every other vegetable is past its prime or eaten.  The temptation to Hermit Up is great. But when we leave town or enter the woods, there is still, as always, something new to see.

 

Pre Spring

 

 

Pre-Spring has begun. This is usually the time between Candlemas and Spring  Equinox, although it can stretch longer—even until May some years. It is not Spring, when annual plants go into the ground and students wander around looking dazed after  long season of being inside, hiding from the rain. But it is not Winter, either. These are the signs.

1.       Snowdrops and crocus are blooming in town. Indian Plum is blooming in the woods.

2.       Forsythia and plum branches are ready to come inside to be forced on the mantle.

3.       Rain comes in spurts and waves.

4.       The early greens are sprouting in the greenhouse and the lights shine through the evening dusk. The cat is in the greenhouse as well.

5.       Pruning is done. The compost pile is huge (the compost pile is always huge).

6.       Mud. There is mud everywhere.  Our shoes are filthy.

7.       The carrots and apples  are almost gone at the Farmer’s Market.

8.       The stored squash in the larder needs to the baked before it rots.  The potatoes are starting to put out feelers.

9.       Parsnips. Leeks. Mustard greens.

10.   On Saturday, a cabbage, all purple frills and bright green interior, glowing in the damp and slanting spring light, can bring the entire Market to a halt.

Question Authority

 I was scowling at my computer at work this morning, trying to click all of the fiddly little boxes so that my grades would synch across two programs when the phone rang. I jumped a mile.

"Hey," one of my colleagues said, "I just wanted to touch base and make sure you were doing ok. I just want you to know that I think you have always had real integrity. But I don't want to like.. intrude or anything."

"You are not intruding," I assured him, "and thanks. I am doing ok."

I am. I am ok because I am caught in a deep and tightly woven web of community that is constantly showing support, often in quiet ways. A pat on the back in a meeting, a hug, an email or letter to the editor...people talk to me on the street, at work, everywhere to show support. People I do not know and close friends. Every day.

But, more importantly, I want everyone to know that they can-- they should be-- asking questions. As a citizen of Corvallis, of Oregon, of the United States is your right-- and duty-- to ask questions of your elected officials. Me. Your councilor. Your City Manager, who works for your city council. Your representatives at the county, state, and federal level. We are all here because you elected us. So you should ask questions, raise concerns, praise positive actions. You are NOT intruding. You are doing your job as citizens.

People have suffered and died for your right to question authority and to vote. Please do not be silent. That is how democracy dies.