My jump into spring in Mexico was short-lived. The sight and sound of the blue whales’ breathing is embedded in my brain. I’m back in Northern New Mexico where spring is yet hard to find. My hike earlier this week took place on barely dried out trails, and there was no sign of new growth as buds or blooms. In my garden, a few tulip bulbs and daffodils are showing their tips above snowy ground, and tiny buds are swelling on the fruit trees. I circle through my yard daily with hopes and expectations for growth. The days are lengthening. Despite snow storms, and night time temps below freezing, nature is moving forward.
My body is shaking its winter fat while I’m observing lent with abstinence of sweets, cookies and bakery treats. My Northern European roots stir in springtime: in Holland we call spring “lente”, a Middle Dutch word related to the old English lencten (=len(g)then), referring to the lengthening of days. Nothing religious about it. I wonder if I experience the surge of energy strongly each spring because I was born in spring. I lose weight, I hike more, I work the soil as soon as I can.
Every year, I question my energy for lengthy walking adventures. Others have spurred me on and I put a training schedule on my calendar to get ready for a week-long backpacking trip at the end of April. An outdoor challenge that hales from a longing to be with nature, despite my age. I want to feel the sun, the wind, my legs moving and let the landscape roll by. You wonder why I don’t just go on day-hikes, sleep in a bed at night, and have access to home comforts. That’s just it. Comforts are the hidden enemies of transformation. Roughing it lets me dig deeper into my being, find my core strength. Day and night exposure to the elements lets me stay in touch with the natural cycles and seasons. Walking all day, carrying necessities for survival, builds resilience, gives me trust I am part of the whole. Living in a house isolates me from all that. A yearly nomadic trek reminds me of the DNA origins of homo sapiens; improves my chances of living longer. So I follow the nomadic call to find greener pastures.
During my volunteering time at a community kitchen this week, I discussed the seasonality of foods with a young man. As we were discussing the quantity of milk used in the kitchen, it turned out he did not know that cows had to become pregnant to continue producing milk, that chickens stop laying eggs in winter. It reminded me that shopping in stores where daily foods are available year-round cuts many people off from nature. They miss out on the joy and thankfulness for the first strawberries, new potatoes, and vine-ripened tomatoes. Being cut off from seasonal cycles, people lose well-being, gratitude and resilience. No wonder the world is such a mess. Moreover, the continuous exposure to a phone screen is often used for entertainment, distraction, and to hide one’s solitude. A recent study explains the effect of access to mobile devices for teens and i-pads for elementary school children in the last 15 years. Children (and teens) play less, explore less, spend less time with friends in unstructured settings, where they could develop skills of judgment, self-reliance, and invention that will help them be competent adults who know how to navigate the world. The surge in anxiety, depression, and loneliness (teens) is a result of being tied to a device that doesn’t teach social skills, that doesn’t force one to go out and find friends. A click of a button or swipe of the finger lets people think they are connected. While playing in the woods behind the house, my grandson found a young sparrow, not quite ready to fly. The sparrow resides in lemon trees grown from seed in the den by my other grandson. My grandson is feeding and caring for the young bird until its feathers fully grow in. The bird is getting a chance on life. My grandson is learning about life.
I use my devices. They entertain me. I “connect” with people through them. The devices cannot take away what I experienced as a child and young adult: outdoor time, winter and summer. Long explorations in my neighborhood, building huts, jumping over creeks unsupervised. Cannot take away the memories of rolling down a warm sandy dune, cannot erase my longing to be part of nature, to share nature with my friends and family. Lent readies me to join friends on the Continental Divide trail, stretching from Mexico to Canada. A trail that calls for going beyond the next ridge, the next wood. A trail that calls me back, as long as my legs will move and carry me.
"Comforts are the hidden enemies of transformation." Oh my, this is so true. There's a phrase many have championed, Bobby Kennedy being one. "Do the things you are afraid to do." I call to challenge oneself. I think those two phrases, when embraced, can change a life. Thanks for your thoughts today.
I just love how you expressed this!! We are full time in our motor home these last 18 years since I retired from the Navy and we travel through different sections of the country every year, usually starting mid to late spring. We've done some backpacking and are avid hikers, nature lovers and I too am longing to hit the trails again!! Being in and JOURNEYING through nature nourishes our souls and strengthens our bodies!This year we'll be traveling through Utah, Wyoming and Montana and some of our favorite national parks, where we try to avoid the crowds and get into the back country. Thanks for the beautiful images you evoke with your writing!! Maybe we'll meet up with you on a trail someday! Walk on! Lisa ❤️