PA River Road: Keeping Close to Home

Even in the midst of a pandemic, even in the middle of human-made and human-borne catastrophes, the rise of spring comes to the Susquehanna valley as the woods swell with birdsong. During the first week of lock-down/stay-at-home/restricted travel I broke the rules and ventured down to the River Road to remind myself that life goes on without us, maybe in spite of us, and to find some peace and quiet from a suddenly, unbelievably busy online work world.

Spring Beauties and Lesser Celandine

I walked a small patch of woods near the river where no matter where you walk, there are combinations of native and non-native plants erupting from the damp soil. The river was heavily used for early commerce and people from away made the lower valley their home a long time ago so some non-native plants like English Ivy and Daffodils came with them.  I know that some folks go nuts when they see Lesser Celandine or Garlic Mustard or Dandelion and holler (especially on social media where hollering seems especially prevalent) about how invasive and unwelcome they are.  It was somewhat strange and a little discomforting, however, to see early emergent shoots of Knotweed already getting a headstart on the spring ephemerals and I cringed at the idea that by summer this whole area will be inundated with it. The bees like it, so I reminded myself to let it go, let it go.

Spicebush

Dutchmans Breeches

There are very few people here and we keep a great distance between ourselves. I like it that way and I feel no need to acknowledge them. I let the voices of the river woods enfold me - Spring Peepers, Phoebe, Chickadee, Canada Geese. It is not necessary to talk and interrupt what is already an ongoing conversation between river and woods, sky and earth. It is not necessary to understand what is being said. It is enough just to listen and accept it as a balm for these scary times. 

Lock pool.

It's enough to know that I am walking through a library of river wisdom that contains the how-to's and encyclopedic treatises on why spring comes to this place when and how it does. My memory of the spring wildflowers is based on a recognition  of stages of bloom and color that I acquired at my Grandmom's side. My intuition alone, however, tells me that my pattern of memory is interrupted by early proliferation shoots and buds I don't recognize so readily, and for that I feel a little sad. A Turkey Vulture surprised me as he spread his wings to catch the sun in a patch of open ground in the woods. Before he opened his five-foot spread of black wings, his presence had not even registered in my mind as a bird, despite his enormous size. I saw him initially as a blackened stump and gave him no mind. But the Vulture gave a couple of loud flaps and turned his wings wide to the sun and his eyes on me. No stump, friend.

Now that I'd been recognized as an intruder on the road, I moved out towards the river and sat awhile on the bank until the Vulture felt I belonged there. No hunting, no searching, no seeking, just sitting. I even opened my arms and hands to the sun and like the Vulture and absorbed its life-giving warmth. I wanted to go deeper and be even more apart from people and just sit there with my dog (Amos loves sitting in the sun) and just breathe. But it is time to go back to work as this little excursion was just my lunch walk and there are more virtual meetings to attend and more human conversations to have today. Good work. Important work.

Going home.

So these are some scary times and I hope you can find a place near home to take a daily walk and relieve the stress and feelings of uncertainty.  Unlike the places that have been flooded with folks who are hitting the trails as a kind of stay-at-home-vacation and causing many problems for our overburdened and underfunded park system, a simple back road walk can offer all the solitude and distance you need to see you through the day. Go out every day, rain or shine. Be well, stay well.