A Solitary Walker: Is it OK to feel joy?

The river is fully melted now. She sings a lullaby that helps me sleep. In the morning, the little brown dogs and I will go along the banks to see if the red petals of the beaked hazelnuts are opening. Then up into the wet fir woods to look for liverworts and mosses and the first flowers of the forest, the leatherwood tree.

Surely, the woodcock over in the alder brush is dancing at dusk by now. We can sit quietly in the shadows watching, yet I feel guilty. Guilty while laughing at the small black mink who slithers along the river and dives in, as graceful as a snake. Guilty at calling “How beautiful!” when a red evening sky turned my river pink. Guilty at how I rejoiced when the song sparrows arrived singing their bouncy songs. Guilty, smiling at bluebirds and at cheering on doves finding seeds in the newly thawed grass, and most guilty at allowing my heart to sing when the beavers showed they had survived the winter.

There is so much to be happy with when the seasons change; trading fleece pants and muck boots for blue jeans and sneakers is particularly wonderful. Yet, I feel like I should be mourning, not allowing the wonderfulness of spring to enter my house.

Perhaps, though, this infusion of beauty may be just what we need to be better fighters. Like medics healing infections on the battleground, nature heals our wounds so we can fight again. Nature is our antibiotic, our bandage, our booze, our good night’s sleep, our sexual release. We go see the sunset and listen to songbirds, and we are healed for a while, making phone calls and writing letters, and marching on the capital with home-made signs. We are mad and we are organizing. We have a couple of years to get strong.

But while you are marching and yelling and calling and writing, don’t forget to look up at the geese returning and at the little warblers in the trees. Don’t forget the ramps and blue cohosh and spring beauties up in the woods, nor the fiddleheads of ferns uncurling like Fibonacci spirals. Please notice the soft spring air while putting away your winter clothes. Go find your swimsuit and paddleboard and plan your strategy while searching for bladderwort blossoms in a favorite pond.

Micki Colbeck is a naturalist and writer and chairwoman of the Strafford Conservation Commission. Write to her at mjcolbeck@gmail.com