Nature Journalism - First Impressions
“I have, as it were, my own sun and moon and stars, a little world all to myself.”
This week was full of cold sunshine. It’s the one where the sky fades from the brightest and most cheerful of yellows to a haunting shade of gray, enveloping all that lies below in the throes of the Pacific Northwest’s late winter. After having spent three years completely and utterly spoiled by Southern California’s everyday promise of blue skies and sunshine, Seattle’s weather has done little to lift my dwindling spirits. I’ve spent most of my time wishing I was elsewhere, and longing for the life I once lived. My pre-pandemic Saturday mornings in Los Angeles were spent curled up on my balcony with a cup of freshly made lemonade, dividing my attention between whatever non-academic book I wanted to complete before the semester was out and Playa Vista’s farmers market. I found myself loving the laughter of children on scooters and the light-hearted conversations of old friends nursing Starbucks drinks with too much ice on the street below as part of my day. I’ve barely noticed Sundays since I officially moved back to Washington in September, giving up my sun-filled apartment for a much harsher reality.
I decided to venture out to my backyard this past Sunday to breathe some life into them once again. In his acclaimed novel Walden, Henry David Thoreau offers the act of retreating to nature as a form of self-exploration and acceptance. While the acceptance that Thoreau may discuss in the book may differ in some ways from that which I am hoping to achieve during my nature spot posts, I do believe it’s driven by a similar desire for a “comfortable” solitude found in beauty. My first impression after sitting on the porch facing our front yard was that everything I could see was lonely looking: the evergreens, normally surrounded by trees heavy with oversized leaves and blooms, seemingly stood alone. The rose bushes that my mother was so proud of over the summer were completely bare. The grassy field with the old veranda so commonly used for prepubescent first dates was simultaneously overgrown and muddy. And still, everything was bathed in that cold sunshine that I’ve grown to look forward to that promises something brighter in the days, weeks, and months to come. I realized that the scenery in front of me didn’t look nearly as lonely as it did even an hour before.