The Secret to Spring

Portland has taught me the secret to spring.

Spring in Portland is a fickle, lovely, dubious thing, here and gone again within the week, within the day, within the hour.  Sun follows rain follows hail follows thunder follows sun and rain and all again, and to love it well, we must learn to sink into the rhythm.

So we cultivate flexible spirits and grow spur-of-the-moment hearts and practice the art of leaping for joy in the sunspots, of running out the door the moment the rain stops and splashing through puddles and singing spring melodies.  We plant flowers and foods that need the wet and the shadows as much as the sunlight and through them we learn to thank the skies for breaking open and ruining our plans again and again and still and probably tomorrow.

Spring has taught me the secret to toddlers.

She is a Portland spring, all daybreak and heartbreak and sudden violent storms of wet, wanting tears, here and gone again within the week, within the day, within the hour.  Smiles follow screams follow snuggles follow anger follows new words follow new bruises and screams and snuggles and all again, and to love her well, I must learn to sink into the rhythm.

So I cultivate a peaceful spirit and grow thick mama skin and practice the art of celebrating her laugh in the sunspots, of dancing wildly around the living room to stop the crying and embracing the slowness of toddling-step journeys and inhaling the top of her newly-bonked head that smells of hard-growing and peanut butter and love.  We build trust and we learn each other in the wet and the shadows as much as the sunlight, and through this we learn to thank our hearts for breaking open and ruining our plans again and again and still and probably tomorrow.

My toddler has reminded me of the secret to birth.

Because labor is a Portland spring, all becoming and promise and the steady onslaught of storms, one after the other, locked into the rhythms of breath and heart and blood.  Pain follows rest follows pain follows joy follows pain and rest and joy all again, and to survive it well, we must learn to sink into the rhythm.

So we harness our breath and take deep, stubborn sleeps in the pauses between surges and practice the art of being just here and here only, of removing fear from pain, of release and opening and the joy of love coming.  We trust and we pray and we learn to thank the pain for bringing life, thank the life for bringing joy, thank the giver of all things for the rhythm and our bodies for breaking open and changing everything again and again and still and probably tomorrow.

Portland has taught me the secret to spring.

I will lean into her toddler weight on my back and her breath in my ear as we journey out between downpours, rain-booted and heart-open into a world that is always giving birth, that is always being born.

The images in this post are by my new friend Ashley, who is challenging her subjects to allow her to capture their honest, messy, flawed and lovely actual lives.  I adore the idea, and the images that came from our day with her (I’ll be sharing many more of them in weeks to come).  For more of her gorgeous work, or to get an early look at the rest of our shoot, visit www.weenoblog.com