This time of year, I always write the same kind of thing. That’s not bad, though. There’s a comfort in the sameness. There’s a comfort in knowing that the way I feel today, is the same way that I felt a year ago, and the year before that, and the year before that.
Not to say that I haven’t grown or changed. Not to say that Portland hasn’t grown or changed. It would be silly to say it hasn’t but, Portland, Oregon from winter time to Spring time, the season of change, provides some of the biggest changes of all.
Gone are the icy days, the short days, the days spent huddled around fireplaces and trying to navigate the steep hills and rugged terrain. You think we would learn how to drive in the snow, I mean, we do get it every year, but, we don’t. We Portlanders are a stubborn folk.
But, we don’t need to worry about that. Now, we see our neighbors. A little more bearded and disheveled, wearing shorts and flip flops, tank tops and blouses. The Farmers markets open up and fresh produce make its way to our paper sacks (always paper, not plastic, that scourge of the environment—not here in Portland). The aroma of hops and roses and fresh berries, and plums and peaches. You don’t need to step any further than outside to catch a whiff of Mother Nature’s aromatic display.
Of course, it looks great too. My lawn has turned from a brown mud pit to a vibrant green, dotted with pink and red roses, tulips, daffodils and, yes, even dandelions, which I love even though they are technically weeds.
We take our furry friends to the park, we jog and work off those winter pounds in search of our summer bodies. Summer seems close. We start making plans for the Fourth of July and for Labour Day. Life starts to come fast, like the hummingbirds and bees making their annual reappearances. We love it. I love it. The corrugated metal chairs outside our favorite brew pub, the jazz and blues festivals, the lazy walks along the water front, and the frisbee throwing coeds. Springtime in Portland takes on a whole new bent. It looks different here, dryer and more inviting. It’s always great here but springtime in Portland, like the crack of a ball hitting a baseball bat, is always a welcome time. It’s glorious and, allergies aside, it’s my favorite time of the year.