Nature Journalism - A Reflection on The Loire Valley

My first memory of the Loire Valley is one of me sitting in the back of a rickety old boat with a parasol floating down a river period-drama style. One either side of me were endless rolling hills of overgrown grass, twisted oak trees, and fields of wheat perfectly framed by homes that are so often attributed to the French countryside and existed during the reign of King Henry II and his Italian queen, Catherine de' Medici. Above me, the sky, a faded shade of blue, was momentarily covered with a retreating blanket of clouds. It was a day not unlike those I knew as a child of the Pacific Northwest. Even wrapped tightly in a faded, wool blanket; I found myself at the mercy of the chilled water lapping at (and at times over) the sides of the small boat packed with college students like me. There were no fish to be seen despite a large number of elderly fisherman that could be spotted perched on the river's banks with their simple midday picnics of cheese, baguettes, and jams all made in the surrounding agricultural towns of the valley. 

There was something all-embracing and familiar about my moments spent on the Loire river. I remember imagining myself in one of Claude Monet's brilliant paintings of rivers just like this one. The simplicity of the moment, borne out of an unplanned trip through the French countryside during a study abroad program, created a quiet calmness that every person on the boat experienced. Four years have passed since that dreamlike afternoon on the Loire River. I didn't think about how special that moment was until one afternoon this past summer, during which I spent every afternoon in my backyard and began to long for a change in scenery. The journal I once filled with all the emotions of the earlier half of 2020 suddenly witnessed an outpour of hope: for my last year of college, my post-graduate life, and a return to simpler moments.