Spring Awakening
DES MOINES, IA - Today is a beautifully sunny and warm Sunday, and I am spending the afternoon at Gray's Lake Park in Des Moines. From where I sit, I have a full view of Des Moines' humble skyline and of Iowa's gold-domed capitol building. Folks of all ages have flocked to the park on this pleasant early spring day. Some walk by on foot, some on ride on bicycles, and I even saw a couple guys on matching unicycles. Kayaks glide along the surface of the lake, and young families are out with their strollers and dogs. With the warmth of the sun wriggling through the fabric of my t-shirt, I realize that, nearly four months after the day I got here, the picturesque view I now enjoy is a world away from the snowy chaos that greeted my arrival.
When we started our seemingly never-ending
crisscross of the Hawkeye State in January, this land of farms slumbered beneath
a thick white blanket. Blessed by a mild winter, the snow melted soon enough and
we spent most of February and March looking at a terrestrial quilt of dormant
shades of gray and brown. At long last, spring seems to have arrived. What had
been gray and brown is gradually turning to green and yellow. Hints of stalks
peek out from the soil in Iowa's hinterlands, and the asphalt of the rural
country roads sinks slightly as the surrounding grass regains its customary
height. The mighty earth awakens from its hibernation in front of my very eyes,
and it is a sight to behold.
Having lived a farm-hopping existence this winter, it's no surprise that I have a greater appreciation for the change of seasons. I've spent my last several winters in places like New York and Chicago, where the notable events of spring's arrival are the disappearance of months-old dirty snow from street curbs and the return of mysterious street odors. Naturally, just when Iowa is ready to become magnificent, we're all getting ready to finish our tour and go back to our respective homes.
When I got here amidst January's snow and chill, a friend who lives in Des Moines said to me, "You probably picked the worst time to come here." Maybe he's wrong. Had I not come here in the dead of winter, I would have missed a chance to witness for myself how the earth is reborn like clockwork each year. Without going through the quiet desolation of January and February, I could never possibly appreciate the renewal that marks March and April.
Indeed, it is a beautiful day at Gray's Lake Park. All of us who are here today - the young couple in front of me with their new puppy, the mother teaching her teenaged son how to use a skateboard, the family of immigrants enjoying a picnic on the other side of the deck, and the father & son with their fishing rods on the water - are here to accept the earth's invitation to come outside and play. Although being raised in the Midwest has made me too smart to proclaim the end of winter quite yet, I am encouraged so far by what I see.
Shortly after arriving here, I wrote in this space that visiting a shopping mall here made me feel alive because it took my mind away from Iowa for a little while. As I squint from the sunlight overhead and feel the gentle breeze from the lake brush against my arms, I feel unmistakably alive once more. This time, however, it's not in spite of being in Iowa, but maybe in no small part because I am in Iowa. It's amazing what four months and a change of seasons can do to a person's perspective.
Having lived a farm-hopping existence this winter, it's no surprise that I have a greater appreciation for the change of seasons. I've spent my last several winters in places like New York and Chicago, where the notable events of spring's arrival are the disappearance of months-old dirty snow from street curbs and the return of mysterious street odors. Naturally, just when Iowa is ready to become magnificent, we're all getting ready to finish our tour and go back to our respective homes.
When I got here amidst January's snow and chill, a friend who lives in Des Moines said to me, "You probably picked the worst time to come here." Maybe he's wrong. Had I not come here in the dead of winter, I would have missed a chance to witness for myself how the earth is reborn like clockwork each year. Without going through the quiet desolation of January and February, I could never possibly appreciate the renewal that marks March and April.
Indeed, it is a beautiful day at Gray's Lake Park. All of us who are here today - the young couple in front of me with their new puppy, the mother teaching her teenaged son how to use a skateboard, the family of immigrants enjoying a picnic on the other side of the deck, and the father & son with their fishing rods on the water - are here to accept the earth's invitation to come outside and play. Although being raised in the Midwest has made me too smart to proclaim the end of winter quite yet, I am encouraged so far by what I see.
Shortly after arriving here, I wrote in this space that visiting a shopping mall here made me feel alive because it took my mind away from Iowa for a little while. As I squint from the sunlight overhead and feel the gentle breeze from the lake brush against my arms, I feel unmistakably alive once more. This time, however, it's not in spite of being in Iowa, but maybe in no small part because I am in Iowa. It's amazing what four months and a change of seasons can do to a person's perspective.
Posted: Sun - April 3, 2005 at 05:04 PM
Quick Links
Calendar
| Sun | Mon | Tue | Wed | Thu | Fri | Sat |
Categories
Archives
XML/RSS Feed
Statistics
Total entries in this blog:
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Apr 03, 2005 06:19 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Apr 03, 2005 06:19 PM