A Spring Walk
Adding to your lifespan, one minute at a time
A few days ago, I took a walk in the woods. Granted, this is not exactly headline material, but this one felt different. I was an accidental tourist in the woods on this day, not having planned to spend time among the trees. Walking along a trail with some other business in mind, it suddenly struck me that winter was actually, finally over and the wildlands were restarting their annual battle with mortality.
The floor of forest had been transformed into a flower garden of sublime beauty, complete with a miniature menagerie of critters scurrying around among the duff. I then realized that it had been a long time since I actually stopped and looked at the micro-scenery.
I’ve finally learned such aimless minutes—wandering, lingering, refusing to be productive—aren’t wasted.
The day was a perfect example of type of weather that makes even grumpy old men kinder, with a brilliant electric blue sky occasionally punctuated by cotton-puff clouds. The temperature was also perfect—just cool enough to make sitting in a sunny spot on a hillside seem like a warm bath. After our dank Hoosier winter, the sun seemed to actually soak into my bones.
Strolling along the creek, I saw trout lilies poking their mottled leaves through the dried debris of the previous generation. A single overachieving plant had hoisted its inverted yellow flower above the masses of its brethren on a stalk resembling a shepherd crook. The tiny, succulent heart-shaped leaves of wild ginger stood nearby like a crowd of bystanders watching the flower show.
Farther along, bluebells were just getting started, lifting themselves from the ground like a slow-motion fireworks show. Spring beauties dotted the forest floor, scattered like stubborn remnants of snow that refused to acknowledge the change in season.
Next to a fallen tree, a lone Dutchman’s breeches plant displayed its strange little flowers—tiny pairs of pants hanging upside down on an invisible clothesline. The pale green, lacy leaves looked like they belonged in a carefully arranged flower display, not dropped casually along a trail.
Many younger trees had already leafed out, eager and optimistic. The older ones stood back, cautious, having learned a thing or two about late frosts and false starts. The wind had softened, losing its bite, though the creek remained indifferent, continuing its yearly work of carving new ground and back-filling its previous work.
On a whim, I decided to plop onto the ground and take stock of the smaller residents of the area.
At some point, I gave up walking altogether and sat down to see what was happening at ground level. Beetles and ants conducted small, serious wars over scraps of organic debris. A stink bug decided my forearm was a fine viewing platform. It was gently evicted. A tiny yellow spider, however, made a poor real estate decision and paid the price. Nature extends only so much grace.
Early spring might be the best deal going. Enough life to make things interesting, not enough to require chemical warfare in the form of bug spray. My biggest problem that day was finding the perfect spot to sit and absorb it all.
As I walked back to our host’s log cabin, their old dog was sprawled on the wooden porch swing waiting for a handout and a scratch behind the ears. Sometimes a dog’s life doesn’t seem too bad. I almost wondered if I had accidentally wandered into one of those idyllic backlit beer commercials.
If this all sounds like aimless rambling, I’ll plead guilty. However, I’ve finally learned such aimless minutes—wandering, lingering, refusing to be productive—aren’t wasted. They add up to make your life longer. In fact, I’m counting on it.
At this rate, I figure I’ve got a real shot at reaching 150.