Early Spring

I am not really built for times that require bravery. I have struggled with fears, phobias, and high anxiety most of my life, no doubt some inherited from my mother and other family members. There’s a streak of paranoia that runs deep. Indeed, I firmly believe lettuce kills.

Don’t believe me? Just go to the CDC food safety site and look up food borne illnesses, especially Romaine lettuce.

Times like these, where we have all been ordered to self-quarantine, lockdown, and shelter in place, could easily turn me into an agoraphobic. I fight it by taking long walks every day. We live in strange times when simply leaving one’s house feels like an act of bravery.  

One of the things that has struck me is how beautiful all the blooming trees have been this spring. Even before this covid-19 virus took over our lives, waking consciousness, dreams, and nightmares, when it was just a blip on the radar with newspaper reports out of China, I was struck by how particularly lovely this time of year has been.

We had a mild winter that segued into an early spring. There are years when the tulip magnolias in Lafayette Park bloom for a couple of days and then a blast of icy air kills them off, leaving shriveled, brown, frostbitten blossoms. This year, though, they seemed indestructible and bloomed everywhere. Cherry trees blossomed along the Tidal Basin, seemingly lasting forever. No unexpected frosts, no violent wind storms to rip away their blossoms and leave the ground looking like it had been littered by delicate pink and white confetti. I can’t help thinking, this year these fragile blossoms have become a symbol of resilience.

 Here in Virginia, they were every bit as resilient and stunning, making the daily commute into DC pleasurable, even as fears began to slowly mount. Then, of course, last week, we were ordered out of our office building and the lovely morning and evening rides home ceased.

I am blessed by how many flowering trees we have in Burke Center, forsythia, cherry blossom, pear trees, eventually dogwoods will bloom. So, I force myself outside. The other day, though, there were so many other people out on a warm sunny day. The usual teen agers with friends, the joggers, some with their dogs trotting along, and senior citizens like me out taking walks. All trying for some normalcy. But I confess, it was a little scary out there – a little too peopley – as we’d pass, some of us would eye each other warily, some stepping a bit farther away – just how far is the recommended six-foot distance anyway?

One woman passed me and she was wearing a mask. I admit it scared me. Was she just trying to protect herself? Was she already infected?  I had to pass her; there was no way back home if I didn’t. Or I could make a jackass out of myself by turn around and going back in the other direction.

Just then, she stepped off the sidewalk onto a side path and motioned me to go. I gave her a thumbs up. Then I stopped and put my palms together and gave her a full bow of gratitude. She burst out laughing.

It made my day. Human contact. And the soothing, calming beauty of trees and flowers. It’s true what psychologists say about the healing power of nature. Even for somebody scared of lettuce.