Feeling stuck? It happens. Been there… not lately, but once upon a time it was pretty common, even chronic. I’m sitting at a different trailhead this morning. Almost wilderness, but not really. It’s simply unfamiliar, and the novelty feels wilder and more remote than this little green space really is.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I passed through the gate, which just stands there not attached to anything, preventing vehicular traffic passing through, into the big clover meadow encircled by trees, bounded on one side by the silent broad Willamette River, and on the other a forest that extends to a quiet rural state highway. This early on a chilly Sunday morning there is no traffic, nor are there other visitors.
Available data suggests that the river is relatively shallow here, between 7″ and 10″ deep, but it’s deceptively calm surface manages to suggest caution, and anyway it’s much too cold for swimming, at 41F (7C) this morning (air temperature that is, I expect the water is maybe a bit warmer, based on the mist hanging above the river, but it wouldn’t be enough to coax the average person into it).
I start down the trail. Even this hard-packed dirt trail is much easier on my ankle and my foot than pavement ever is. I still have my cane, but my stride feels easy and natural. It’s a nice change and I ask myself why I don’t come here more often? It’s a lovely spot, and only 17 miles from home. The view of the sunrise over the river is quite splendid. I sigh contentedly as I walk. The air smells of Spring flowers, clover, blackberries, wild cucumber, and spicy scents of various wildflowers less familiar to me. In rainier seasons most of this trail is too muddy to walk safely. I enjoy being able to reach the far side of the meadow and circle back around.
I get some great pictures as I make the loop around the meadow. There’s something vaguely nostalgic about the scent here. Something that hints at childhood visits to my grandparents’ house in summertime, or weekends working in the garden. I breathe, exhale, and relax, pausing now and then to soak in the scene and the scent.
I find a spot to stop a moment, to write and watch the river flow past. It is so quiet here, it’s hard to imagine I am close to a city at all, but Salem is only 7 miles away. Doesn’t matter at all how close it is in miles. Measured by the experience of this moment, it may as well not exist at all.
… I’ll definitely be coming back to this trail more often…
I sit quietly enjoying my time in this place. The light through the trees changes as the sun continues to climb higher in the sky. I reflect on conversations with my beloved Traveling Partner over recent days. He’s been helping me quite a lot with putting more explicit focus on my self-care and it has been making a difference.
Motion catches my eye; a rabbit with baby bunnies has ventured out into the grass near the trail. She’s far enough from this rock I’m sitting on to be fearless about my presence. I watch the bunnies hop into the open space of the trail, then dart away, when a shadow passes overhead, returning to continue munching and playing. I watch them for a long while, contemplating consciousness and intelligence, and the arrogance of human primates and our delusions of our special place in the world. We know so little of everything there is to know, and even less about the vastness of what we don’t even know we don’t know. Are bunnies self-aware? Do they reason? Do they feel and experience emotions? (Why would we think they don’t, other than to make ourselves feel better when we kill them?)
As I watch, one rabbit with bunnies becomes several, all hopping and playing at the edge of the meadow in the sunshine of a new day. Some of the bunnies roll in the dust of the dry packed trail. A variety of songbirds flit about. I feel fortunate and delighted to see all of this. I fill up on the feeling of wonder and joy.
I sit with my thoughts awhile, then walk a trail that heads the other direction from the trailhead. There’s more to see. The morning is mine to enjoy as I will. I think happily to my Traveling Partner encouraging me to make something of the day for myself. “Do something for you,” he said. This is me, doing that. I breathe the scented Spring air deeply and walk on. It’s a lovely moment for it.
There’s nothing in the news more worth my attention than these quiet moments in the real world. There is no app on any device that offers me more than I’ll find on this trail, in this moment, here, now. Look up from your scrolling long enough to see that there is a real reality in which you exist, with much to see and do and choose from. Your choices matter. There’s a reason all these apps want your attention, and more and more businesses have such apps; your attention has real value. Spend that on you – choose where you put your attention with care.
…Be here, now… Be present. Moments are fleeting, and our mortal lifetimes are brief.
I smile to myself like I know something. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. My results definitely vary. I’m having my own experience – and it’s real. I get back to the parking lot, which is filling with people and dogs. This is not my idea of a great time, so I wrap up my notes and my put my gear back in the car. Coffee would be good right about now, and it feels like a good opportunity to begin again.
Evening Light 