Happy Spring!

Spring Break has officially started!

To commemorate the the change of season, the sun came out and stayed out all day. Steve, Andrew and I spent most of our waking hours outside enjoying the warmth. Our first destination was the “beach.” We have yet to share this stretch of shore with anybody during one of our visits; a treat that could only occur when living in a sparsely populated area. It is at these times, alone with God's amazing beauty, that I feel most deeply, it is a blessing to be so isolated. It is peaceful, quiet and place where the world slows down. We enjoyed our time together with sea-smelling snowball fights, skipped rocks, sauntered alongside the water, collected smooth glass pieces and took in some of my favorite sights.

When I leisurely walk along the shoreline, I find myself gazing down at the multicolored rocks. Each stone wants to be held, to tell a story of its life under pressure. Some are smooth, opaque pink, others are black with deep white veins crisscrossing their bodies, others alternate textures and colors in half inch layers; all bound together by some fantastic occurrence. None are the same, yet all are akin to each other. They are arranged beautifully in an organized chaos. I wonder if there will be a time when they will be made whole again, reunited.

I am also in awe of the bounty of intact shells scattered along the beach. Growing up visiting the Oregon coast, I was lucky if I found one unbroken sand dollar or shell. But here there are no raucous waves to crush the porcelain to pieces. Here the pristine waters gently lap over the shells, giving them nothing more than a loving nudge toward the trees. Hundreds of these gutted shells sit atop the rocks, robbed of their insides by some hungry otter or seagull; some torn in half, some couples still clinging to each other by a ridged muscle. I can’t help but carry the bound duo for a few steps, stealing Andrew’s attention with a mock castanet performance.

The driftwood, too, has a playful intrigue that I find alluring. Their swirled misshapen faces; characters dressed up with moss accents, fish net and seaweed accessories. Here I can see a bird’s peering eye from the decomposing wood. There also are a multitude of barnacles on pier posts, rocks and rusting metal; somehow they seem precious. Tiny, little hermits, tucked snugly asleep until the high tide awakens them. The mountains; I could look at the same mountains everyday and never grow tired of staring. Today the clouds had lifted and all the grand snowy tops were fully visible.

In snow-covered Alaska, signs of Spring's arrival are hard to find. But when I looked and listened closely, I noticed some subtle clues of Mother Nature's plan to shed her winter clothes. The seaweed was in bloom. The once crispy dark green edges had transformed into plump, shiny green, air-filled blossoms; sticky to the touch. Back at home, as we spent the afternoon playing in our “super sledding trench” and relaxing in the sun, I could hear sweet new voices in the trees surrounding us. The delicate twitter of tiny sparrows chirped through the air; usually dominated by heavy calls of the ravens and eagles. With the warmth of the sun, the music of the birds and the whispering of the hemlock branches, it was a perfect setting for welcoming in the season. For us our first day of Spring was a day of repose, reflection and regeneration.