this is your brain on spring-green

Sunrise on the Charles. Blackbirds buzz like dial-up internet, robins tweedle-dee from treetops, cardinals call like car alarms. The sky is all peach and periwinkle behind mostly-naked oaks & maples and soft evergreen pines. The river reflects a glowing sky, the resident swan aggressively chases off a pair of Canada geese who got too close to her nest. Flap, flap, flap; honk, honk, honk. The swans are striking and iconically charismatic, sure, but they’re also invasive bullies.

Two young raccoons, part of last summer’s brood, claw their way up a red oak, stopping now to clean themselves. Now, one goes way out on a limb. Who knows why?! (He does.)

Stepped inside to get my Barry’s Irish tea. A splash of milk, a delightfully generous glug of maple syrup. When I opened the door to return to the back porch, both raccoons turned towards me and stared, perfect fuzzy noses and exquisitely adorable masks, before scampering farther up the tree and into a hole.

In the distance a train whistle blows, and then the nostalgic clang, clang, clang of the train bell rings. Highways 90 and 95 hum-roar. All of our suburban wildlife encounters—owls hooting in the night, coyotes stopping in snowy tracks to watch us through the window, the soulful two-tone whistle of the chickadee—they all take place against the sound of the highway. One arborist who came to assess our trees gestured towards the forested banks of the river below and told me, “none of this is nature. You’re not really in nature until you’re in the White Mountains.” The muskrat overheard him and thinks he’s an idiot.

The willows on the river are electric spring-green, sumptuous waterfalls of photosynthesis. Looking down the hill towards the wetland, now that there’s more light in the sky, some pointalist got a hold of green paint. You know how they say that different colors do different things to your brain? Blue makes you calm, yellow makes you happy, red puts you on edge, etc? I’ve been wondering if there’s anything in this vibrant April yellow-green that fills us with relief, with hope, with faith that even after a long dark winter, life and love and goodness will prevail.

I’ve been writing some but not sharing much for the past few months. I’m increasingly convinced that we all need to put more energy towards connecting with the natural world, with the present moment, and with people in our homes and local communities. The noise of the internet, the rampant self-promotion and subtle (or conspicuous) virtue signaling that are so prevalent across social media, the widespread confusion between authentically connecting vs. publicly sharing vs. advertising one’s personal or professional “brand”—it all makes me dizzy. Remember when being “followed” was a bad, creepy thing? Like, down a dark alleyway?

I don’t think humans (or any animals for that matter) were meant to have access to billions of people’s thoughts at any given moment. Never mind the targeted advertisements. Sometimes I think about how crazy it is that a company can say “hey internet, can you show this all-natural moisturizer to a 37-year-old pseudo-crunchy woman who has taken shit care of her skin her whole life?” or “hey internet, can you show this farm camp for toddlers to a naturalist mom who lives in the greater Boston area?” You guys I am ending my rant now but this is insane.

In this landscape, it feels funny to share anything at all on the internet. But I guess you are earnestly opting in to read my thoughts? That’s kind of crazy. Thank you. But please, soon, take a break from the internet.

More to come re: the connection-to-nature-and-the-present-moment. Happy Spring, fam.