An early morning Good Friday walk in the woods. Excellent time to take a hike. The mud on the trails was still frozen so it was relatively muck-free, and completely, unutterably gorgeous. The robins and waxwings were singing, the sky was a luminous blue, and everything was indeed, good. Ice covered puddles with a thin crystalized film of ice provided many delicious opportunities to shatter and crack my way through the woods. Felt so energized I even did some stairs at the north end of Mill Creek. All the lower trails were passable, although the central area close to where the rooster roosts was entirely ice covered and most likely impossible to cross later on in the afternoon. Other parts of Mill Creek are quite dry and
The rare Glovewood tree
almost dusty. Typical spring day.
The Glovewoods are blooming everywhere. Even ran across a very rare Glovewood tree with a big, fat blossom. Bushes and shrubs are much more common, but occasionally a tree will sprout a five-fingered bloom, but of course, only in the Spring. Spent about 90 minutes on the trails. Thank you Jesus for the day off. And Mr Fruit n’ Nut.
“I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a mid-afternoon at the Legislature toker…”
Smoke O'er the Water
Well, I’m not, or at least not usually, but everyone around me is, including, I think, the dogs, the squirrels, and a few uncharacteristically friendly magpies occupying the soggy grounds of the provincial government Legislature on 4-20. International ‘get baked’ day, a celebration of hydroponics, hot pockets, and cannabis. Also, black hoodies, judging by the similarly attired crowds. I look forward to this day every year, and I go out of my way to make the Legislature part of my walk into the river valley. Unlike last year, I didn’t see anybody flying the freak flag, other than a couple of kids with their faces painted like marijuana plants. I was hoping to see Bongman again, but he was nowhere to be found. Not a surprise, there seemed to be many more people this year. Mostly young people, or at least those flexible enough to play hacky sack and sit cross-legged on wet grass.
I have no measurable experience with cannabis, but I do enjoy late-night snacking and the occasional public gathering. Nevertheless, in my running room jacket and backpack, bleeding uptight from every pore, I stuck out like a sore thumb. No matter, this crowd exudes nothing but herb-induced affability and a slight blue haze. The seat of government never smelled so sweet.
That’s Romanticism…not romance, in spite of all the squawking in the bushes. Giant plates of ice have piled up along the shores of the North Saskatchewan River in a way that is reminiscent of the great German Romantic painting, The Polar Sea by Caspar David Friedrich. Unlike the great German Romantic painting, Sir William Parry’s wrecked ship was not amongst the sheets of cracked and dirty ice. A few seagulls, and a duck, but no 19th century sailing vessels.
The scene near the Low Level Bridge was much more spectacular yesterday, but of course, my camera was
Not Caspar David Friedrich's Polar Sea
not in my backpack. Today, under pressure from sun and undertow, the Romanticist Ice Jams have morphed into Impressionist Ice Chunks, which are not nearly as impressive, but then Romanticism always trumps Impressionism. Take that Monet and your stupid, stupid haystacks.
I’ve been trying to walk about 90 minutes every day. It’s a preemptive move on my part to negate effects of the looming Mr Fruit ‘n Nut weekend, otherwise known as Easter. My boots are killing me on the cement, but the unpaved paths in Mill Creek are still incredibly mucky. A pleasing, squelching sort of muck, I must say, but not fit for running shoes. I’d rather trash my three-year old boots than my new Sauconys. Maybe by the weekend I can retire my boots for the season or at least until the blizzard hits in mid-May.
A Romantic Shoreline
Saw a fly sitting on a pile of gravel in the gutter. I found it oddly cheering. Spring is well and truly underway.
…and sitting on a cement beam below the foot bridge at McKinney. She’s only visible between the slats of wood, so like last year, I had to squat down and shove the camera lens through the opening to get a picture. Was only able to take one shot and then my camera died. Adding to the spring-like atmosphere, a guy was playing his flute in the rose garden. No, this is not a euphemism…he had an actual flute and the music he was playing was kind of jazzy. Very, very nice. I wonder if the birds recognized, or even appreciated his songs. I sure did.
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.
A petalled park
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
A view from the bridge
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.
The rocky shores of the North Saskatchewan
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
Iced Geese
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.
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.
