“Autumn in Arkansas flaunts only its absence.”

This is a line from Knee Deep in Wonder by April Reynolds. Locally, the line might go something like this:

“Spring in Edmonton flaunts only its absence.’”

The quote from Knee Deep in Wonder promises hot, sticky diversions, necessitating a trip to the bookstore and a weekend wrapped in steamy southern prose. The second line, from Knee Deep in Snow Mold, promises nothing but gravel in my shoes and a runny nose.

It’s an unfortunate truth that spring in Edmonton, early spring, is a dreary, dripping mess. It will be another six weeks before tiny, tentative leaves unfurl, perhaps longer for the first lilac to be plucked from a neighbours yard. And yet, I have already observed goose-fleshed flesh in shorts, and actual goose flesh by the river, so it’s encouraging to know that Edmontonians, human and avian, are actively if not prematurely anticipating better things to come.

Sometime in May, the city will undergo a verdant transformation, and nowhere will this change be more lushly visible than in the river valley. Louise McKinney Park is my particular favourite grassy knoll, and it’s been a pleasure to walk its paths for more than a decade. Initially it was just a hill with two paths. Now, it’s a hill with many paths, an ampitheatre, obelisk, Chinese garden, riverfront promenade, a northern rose heritage walk, boat launch, lamp-post poetry, a big-ass public washroom, and some assorted, harmless hoboery. All within 12.9 hectares of land. I don’t know what a hectare is, other than a term invented to further alienate me from people who know things, but suffice to say, it’s a small park.

Located directly below one of the city’s main arteries, Louise McKinney Park used to be covered in wildflowers and weeds. Really nice weeds, the kind that look like flowers if you know nothing about horticulture and the word ‘noxious’ applies only to wet dogs and grassroots politics. There is nothing particularly wrong with the ‘improvements’ made to McKinney, but prior to the changes, there was something loveable about this humble little parkette in the middle of downtown Edmonton. The wild, bee-loud hillside was a beautiful, living corridor, the subject of many photographs, several paintings, and not a few tumbles in the tall grass.

Recently, as Edmonton’s city council contemplates the destruction of the eastern corner of McKinney in the name of light rail transit expansion, I’ve been thinking about what will be lost if a train

is allowed to slice through the park and rob this tranquil green-space of it’s innocence. Compounding the injury, it appears the oft-used wooden footbridge spanning the North Saskatchewan River from McKinney to Henrietta Muir Park will also be destroyed in favour of a newer, uglier transit bridge, although the Transportation Department has yet to confirm these plans.

Even if they retain it, a new bridge will be built adjacent to the footbridge, obstructing the view and voiding any possibility of finding peace among the ducks.

However, today is the first day of spring, and I refuse to be defeated by a short-sighted council who cannot see the beauty of this little park. A few hours ago I walked along the lower path and spotted the geese that return every year to this area. The river is still frozen, but the geese are here, and the runners and walkers are here, and one day, the earth movers will be here too, but not today.

In March, Louise McKinney is not in show condition. But then, neither am I.

Like every other area of this city, it’s still slumbering in a winter coma, cycling ever so slowly toward wakefulness. In a few weeks, green grass will poke through the old

brown sweater  draped across the hill, the apple trees will blossom, the Russian olives that line the staircases and pathways will release their deep sweet scent, and I will purchase my first bottle of fake tanning lotion. Spring will flaunt itself properly. Until then, embrace what is in front of you, for what it was, for what it is, and for what it will be. And take a walk through Louise McKinney Park while it’s still a park, and not a transit station.

5:17PM/-1C

Yup. They’re back, and so is the snow. Very sloppy, wet snow, but enough to turn the brown landscape to white, which is kinda sorta not a bad thing. Edmonton has three colours: green, white and brown. Unfortunately, the brown prevails. Mid to late Autumn, and then all of Spring except for the last two weeks before summer begins.

A short, squelchy walk home. Looking forward to a much longer, and hopefully drier walk (or walks) on the weekend.

5:48PM/3C

Finally. Back in my running shoes now that most of the snow is gone from the trails. What’s that? The weather is changing? 10cm of snow? What a horrible joke.

Gale-force winds and dust devils are not the stuff of a lovely walk, but at least I walked. It’s hit or miss these days. I have to say, there is nothing uglier than an early spring day in Edmonton. However, walking through Skunk Hollow near one of the hills, a little stream had cut a trench along the grass, and the soil beneath was exposed and wonderfully fragrant with the smell of wet earth. A smell that is absent in winter, and one that is so evocative, it drives me to visit the Muttart on cold, winter days. Or, in a pinch, stuff my head in a recently watered houseplant.

I don’t know why the precipitation can’t fall as rain. There is probably some meteorological reason, but this is more of an existential question. A day of rain would be brilliant. Ah well. Saw quite a few geese near the North Saskatchewan river, which is surprisingly clear of ice, at least down the middle. Who knows about tomorrow…

5:32PM/5C

Dumb decision. During the spring thaw, stay away from dog parks, and parks in general. It can be a bit sloppy, and in a dog park, it’s hard to say what actually constitutes the slop. Nevertheless, I hoped to see a gaggle of gooseflesh, and I was not disappointed. Laurier was perhaps not the best way to get to Hawrelak, but once you’re wet, you’re wet, and there’s nothing left to do but enjoy the geese. I’m not so sure they were enjoying themselves, as there was a lot of goose to goose honking, but some kind soul had sprinkled seed on the snow, so at least they had something to eat between the fights. There was some duckage as well, and gulls. A large number of people too, just out for a walk, or driving around the park. It was a really lovely day.

Too early to hit the Emily Murphy trail, so walked up the hill beside Hawrelak to the University, and then down Saskatchewan Drive. I really wanna toss my boots and get back into my running shoes, but the trails are still too mucky, and most are still snow-covered. Maybe in a week, or two.

4:45PM/9C

Turns out, I missed the anniversary of this blog. First Post, April 2nd, 2010. Of course, I’ve been writing in a walking journal since 1995, about 16 years, which may explain why the occasion failed to register. Also, I’ve been sick, so not much has caught my attention of late, other than the distorted half-sounds crackling through my head, and as mentioned in the last post, the weasel shoved into my right ear.

In re-reading the first post, spring was much more advanced during the same period in 2010, which comes as no surprise. But, the air is warm, and the sun is out, and by next week, it will probably look the same. Just wetter.

A 50 minute walk after work today, through Kinsmen and Skunk Hollow. I keep hearing robins, but so far their red breasts have eluded me. Such a beautiful song they have, so distinctly robinesque. I should have taken a longer route today, but I just couldn’t wait to get home, dose myself with Sudafed, and lay flat. Half an hour later, I feel bit clearer, and I’m glad I walked. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. Ish.

Happy anniversary to this blog, and to Kevin for suggesting it. Walking in the woods is one of my greatest pleasures in life. And writing about it comes a close second.

5:22PM/7C

I’m writing this day after a lovely, blue walk in the river valley. Continuing to be under the weather, so I went home early yesterday. In spite of feeling like I had a weasel shoved into my right ear, I walked for a long time, almost two hours. The weasel never left my side.

The sounds were muffled, and the pressure made my head feel like it was going to pop off my shoulders, but so far, my balance is not affected, and anyway, a walk in the warm air and bright sunshine seemed like the right thing to do. At the very least, saying hello to the geese under the LRT bridge, dodging puddles on every sidewalk, and extricating myself from deep holes in the soft snow proved to be a nice little distraction from my ear woes. Can’t say that my head (or ears) felt better after my stroll through the woods, but my spirit did. Laid flat for the rest of the afternoon. And evening. And morning.

3:00PM/7C (yesterday)