I thought I’d start April with a very short post. Spring has always been my favorite time of year, and never more so than when I get to visit Portland’s Waterfront Park. At the Japanese American Memorial Plaza, the cherry trees come into bloom in mid to late March. Over the past few years, I’ve made it a point to visit the Plaza to enjoy the spectacle and take a few good pictures. This year was no exception.
I’d like to offer a prayer for all of us throughout this season. I recognize that we are living in interesting times, to quote an old Chinese curse. Yet if spring has taught us anything, it’s that all of us deserve to have a season of growth and renewal. We may not all be on the same journey, and we might find ourselves at odds with others because of our values and circumstances. Yet all of us are still searching for what makes us whole. My wish is that we manage to find some peace within the chaos of our lives and that we can allow ourselves some forgiveness if we can’t measure up to the challenges we face. All of us need to take stock once in a while, and springtime assures us that better days are ahead. We just have to be willing to plow through the winter first before sunny skies and cherry blossoms appear again.
Every year I make an effort to go down to the Waterfront Park in Portland, Oregon to capture on film the blooming of the trees. Throughout much of my adult life, I’ve made it to the park without fail, but it’s only in the last few years that I decided to photograph the event. And every year, I wonder what would happen if the flowers didn’t bloom.
There’s a very old myth about how the seasons came to be. In Greek mythology, the fertility goddess Persephone was kidnapped by Hades in order that he might make her his bride. There are several variations on this myth, but for the sake of brevity, after eating a pomegranate, Persephone was required to remain in the underworld for a set period of time – usually three months, but sometimes more depending on the the number of seeds eaten and according to who is telling the story. Her return heralded the beginning of spring, at which time her mother Demeter rejoiced at her return. Persephone’s return to the underworld signaled the beginning of winter.
But what would happen if the flowers didn’t bloom?
Each year I watch the trees as the buds start to sprout. What would happen if they didn’t emerge, or the buds remained in stasis rather than fully growing into leaves? How would this affect our outlook if spring never came? It may sound a bit silly at times as many of us take spring for granted, but I often look at this season as my favorite, as well as the most ephemeral. The beauty of spring is offset by its fragility. The cherry blossoms bloom once a year and then vanish. The birdsong begins and continues throughout the summer as they find their mates before flying away in the autumn. And no spring is ever completely the same.
If Persephone chose to maintain her residence in the underworld for a longer period of time, I imagine the spring season would be very brief, and summer would begin sooner. I have no doubt the harvest season would be affected as well. And of course the length of spring changes in different climes anyway, including here in the United States. Our spring here in Oregon is quite different from what you might see in Minnesota. But if Persephone never returned, the flowers wouldn’t bloom, and many of these seasonal changes wouldn’t come to pass. We’d see a much more barren planet than we’d ever want without the advent of spring and the return of the crops we need for our very survival.
I celebrate spring for many reasons. The return of warm weather and the blossoming of the cherry trees are only a very small part of it. I celebrate the return of possibility and growth, even though I’m aware those things have never really left us. I celebrate spring for the renewal of romance or of finding of new love. But mostly, I celebrate it because the alternative is that we remain in stasis, forever immutable and depriving ourselves of new opportunities for changing who we are, even if those changes are necessary or inevitable.
Freedman on the Go 