With April comes my birthday, and since the age of six, my family and I have gathered for a spring walk to commemorate it. Frankly, I could just as well forget about turning a stupid year older, but this outing is precious to me, and I plan to enjoy it. Also, as my friend Susan always says when I complain about advancing age, "It's better than the alternative."
The prairies are still barren and brown compared to some other places in the world, but there's a beauty to be found, despite that fact. At the beginning of March, my cousin in England told me how snowdrops were carpeting the hollows, and wild yellow daffodils added a splash of color to the fells (hills). She lives in the Lake District, a gorgeous area of the UK home to William Wordsworth in the 1800s. The daffodils near Ullswater were the inspiration for his poem, "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," in 1804. I can relate to that. I often wander the countryside near my home, "lonely as a cloud," but I love every minute of it.
Sometimes our walk involves ski pants and mittens, and other times rubber boots are required to navigate the rushing waters of a creek that winds its way through our pastures to meet up with Big Gully. Once, I fell into that muddy stream, much to my sons' delight, who rolled on the opposite bank laughing, but this year things are pretty dry.
Marshall School, where I work, was a muddy hive of activity when all the snowdrifts melted. Kids are drawn to puddles like bees to flowers. They zone in on pools of stagnant water, and nothing will do but that they jump into the very centre. I see it everywhere, sometimes with disastrous results from the viewpoint of an adult or perfectly wonderful results from the perspective of a child.
Take note of a recent exchange between myself and a young boy who, with single-minded purpose, waded into a pool that threatened to breach the top of his rubbers and fill his little boots with an icy gush of murky slop.
"James, please come out of there," said I, concern winkling my aging brow. "Aren't you afraid of filling your boots?" I stood on the sidewalk, observing his progress through the deepest part.
"Nope," he answered brightly. "There are only three things I'm afraid of. Mice, spiders, and…" James paused for dramatic effect. He peered at me with a grin and sloshed further into the swill. "And," he repeated slowly, "… Teletubbies! They're just so massive and scary."
Now that was an unexpected response. And a good one. Also, James made it through to the other side without incident and proceeded about his day with a glad heart and dry feet.
As far as other spring activities, my friend Gwen recently announced she was going to "tap a maple." While I know what she meant, the quirky side of me plans to poke a poplar and whack a willow on our spring walk, just to see what happens.
Today's hike will be great. With new calves frolicking in the pasture, geese honking overhead, and hawks wheeling through the sky, we'll feel the promise of spring regeneration, and my stupid age won't matter. Much.
