When Spring Has Sprung But You Can't

The weather is warmer. The days are getting longer. Plants are beginning to bud and bloom. Spring is here! And it’s my favorite time of the year.

It’s not just the weather that I love, but also the opportunity. Spring brings new life. For some reason that notion carries over from the physical world and into my mind. It feels like a fresh start. Inspiration strikes me. I get the idea that I could in fact accomplish the mile long list of dreams I’ve written out. Spring hasn’t just sprung, so have I!

Yet, this time feels different. 1) The weather is not quite as lovely in Alaska as it is in Arizona. I haven’t been able to wear my sandals yet (I’m rolling my eyes). My customary footwear tan lines are nowhere to be seen. 2) We’re “hunkering down”. Usually spring finds me wandering all over the place. Driving into new towns to climb up a different trail or sit by a river. This time last year I was really in a season of “new” as I made the trip from Arizona through Canada to Alaska. With travel restrictions I can’t bring myself to call my misadventures “critical”. So I’m sitting still. Spring has sprung, but in fact I have not.

So, what does one do instead? Look for the adventures at home. With some recent low tides in town, I’ve been exploring a whole new world of intertidal life. Chitons, sea cucumbers, anemones, crabs, and sea stars. All much slimier than the prickly critters of the desert. I walk further down the beach than I have before. It’s not open toed shoe weather, but it’s definitely warmer. The sun lights up the sky till 9pm, so I’ve been walking for hours before I realize it. I finally finished crocheting a mitten I started back in January. It was too big, so I started a second, smaller mitten. Does anyone need one large mitten? I read. I write. I jot down ideas as they come, adding to my ever-growing list of dreams.

Maybe though it is still a season of growth – just out of the norm. Instead of springing outwards, expanding my physical boundaries to new places I’ve sprung inwards. At first it seems like retreating. More time indoors. More time to myself. But through all that time, ideas are being planted and sowed and soon enough something new will sprout up from this plot of earth.

Lessons From the Desert

The desert is hot, dry, and vast. Driving through, you'll look out your car window into an expansive stretch of brown dirt, reaching back towards the horizon. Waves of heat rise up off the pavement, shimmering. Lizards scurry along the rocks in search of shade. To the untrained eye, nothing seems to be thriving in a land so parched. Yet this place has lots of secrets to share, hidden in it's dusty patches. As you look closer you can see the bright colored fruit of the prickly pear and the soft, white blossoms on the saguaros. They offer nutrients to the roaming families of javelina and nectar to the whizzing hummingbirds. When you accept the invitation of the brown, rolling hills and venture further, you'll stumble across tiny oases, reminding you beauty doesn't fit into one definition. You start to see yourself reflected back you in the desert. You're seemingly small and insignificant, but in fact you're so much more to the world around you. If you take enough time to pause and listen, then the desert will pass down it's wisdom to you too.

I love helping others capture their story to share with the rest of the world, but it all began with knowing my own stories. Going back to what's meaningful in my own life allows me to see the beauty in what's meaningful to others. Here's a bit of my own story through an ode of sorts to a place that raised me.