Destination walk--Camassia Nature Preserve

 On Friday I took a break from my routine of writing, editing, keeping up the apartment, reading and etc. Hal and I got out of town and walked the trail at Camassia Nature Preserve.

Every month the retirement community organizes “destination walks,” hikes in one of the many wilderness areas or nature preserves that abound here in the Willamette Valley. These walks are for the hardier residents, those who exercise regularly and have a certain level of energy. And who like to spend time outdoors.

I confess I’m on the borderline of being in this group as I grapple with issues that tend to rob me of energy. But I want to belong to the hardy club and I love being outdoors and away from the ordinariness of every day. So Hal and I decided to try it. This was one of the easier of the walks, being a loop of only a mile. We thought I could manage that and were willing to give it a try. (Normally my dizziness kicks in after a quarter of a mile.)

We grabbed our walking sticks and a small backpack with water and my notebook, then joined the group of about 15 people in front of the bus. Since we were among the last to sign up, there was no room on the bus, and we went with our friends in their car. The park was about an hour’s drive away.

Camassia Nature Preserve is a 26-acre natural area located on the outskirts of West Linn, part of greater Portland. It’s managed by The Nature Conservancy, a non-profit international environmental organization. Its name comes from the common camas, a purple wildflower of the lily family that blooms throughout the northwest in the spring. We were there just past the peak season when we were told that the purple blooms covered the meadow in regal splendor. Even though the flowers now only bloomed here and there in patches, they were beautiful.

 

They weren’t alone. We saw abundant buttercups, fringecups, thimbleberry blossoms, wild roses, and many small blooms I couldn’t name. The area is home to more than 300 types of plant species.

The one-mile loop is a narrow trail that winds through forest and brushland. From the viewpoint we looked down on the 205 freeway with the Willamette River and Oregon City off in the distance. Other than that view, we were in the silence of nature, away from the city. Several trails spur off the loop, one leading to a longer trail through a wilderness area. I’d love to come back and walk that trail.

A large part of the destination walk is the community of walkers and the friendships that develop. Some walk faster than others, which is to be expected. I’m not in the slowest group, but definitely more toward that end. But every one looks out for everyone else, and a designated walker brings up the end of the line. In this case it was the fitness director of the retirement community. I’m slow, not just because of my dizziness, but because I like to stop and look around me—or down at the side of the path where the tiniest flowers grow.

 

                                    Camas and buttercups

                                    Thimbleberry blossom

Viewpoint--Mt. Hood

Madrona tree

    I feel proud of myself for going on this walk. I confess I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately, partly because of lack of sleep and little energy (another subject). Motivation to get out and mingle is at low ebb and I’ve spent many days in my apartment, reading, watching movies, looking out the window and playing computer solitaire (another confession). Even in the middle of a slump, I know it’s temporary, that I’ll come out of it given time and a dash of discipline.

I also know that one way to be proactive, even when I don’t feel like it, is to get out in nature. Trees are the best listeners and therapists I know. The wind in the leaves gives such good advice. Wildflowers encourage me. And walking a trail with friends is a sure prescription for a healthy spirit.

I think I’ll join the June destination walk to the Willamette Mission State Park. You come, too!

Slogging through a senior slump

I’m in a slump and I don’t like it. Just so you know, I’m not referring to despair, depression, or anything requiring major psychological repair. It’s more like a lingering lethargy, a state of being profoundly uninspired. Being too tired to bother with people or projects. Blah. Good word, blah.

I’m calling it a “senior slump”—just wondering if growing older has anything to do with it. I face chronic physical challenges. I haven’t been sleeping well for several weeks. And then there’s the unwholesome temptation to compare my present life to the lives of my bright, ambitious, and highly functioning offspring and grand-offspring. They are collectively advancing in their careers, writing books, changing the world, getting married, having babies, and other significant stuff. I struggle to answer the question, “What have you been doing lately, Grandma?”

Slump is an interesting word. Think of other sound-alike words: slobber, slog, slop, sloth, slouch, slough, slovenly, slow, slubber, sludge, slug, slum, slur, slurp, slush, slut. It’s dark in this forest of verbiage.

According to the dictionary (Oxford Languages), some of the definitions of a slump are “a sudden or prolonged fall in price, value, or amount; a period of poor activity or performance, especially an extended period; a downturn in performance.” It usually refers to economics or sports, but has personal applications as well. “There are many kinds of slumps, but they all involve things going downhill.” Sounds about right.

Here’s my own definition: “A slump is a slog through a bog in the fog.”

All I really know is that I’m in a slump and it doesn’t feel good. Consider my three life priorities in terms of what I am to do with my time on earth: prayer, poetry, and people (all conveniently beginning with my favorite letter of the alphabet—P). I’m presently not doing well in any of these areas. I’m experiencing a “downturn in performance,” as the dictionary gently puts it.

Prayer certainly doesn’t come naturally or easily these days. When I attempt contemplative prayer, I either float off onto some imaginative rabbit trail or go to sleep. I avoid prayer meetings that I find too noisy or religious. (Can you imagine a prayer meeting that is too religious? That shows how far I’ve fallen.) I do attend one prayer meeting in my neighborhood in the retirement community. It’s low key and I always come away feeling we’ve been partnering with Jesus in his purposes in the lives of our friends. (So maybe there’s hope for me.)

In terms of poetry, I still write, but when I read the poem back to myself, I notice how poorly written and trite it is. I ask myself, “What right have you to call yourself a poet?” I wonder if I’ll ever publish again. Or write a decent poem.

About people, I have many friends here and friends around the world that I love. But these days I’m too tired to reach out. Being in a slump tends toward isolation. I’m tempted not to make the effort and, more often than not, I don’t.

Poor me. 

Okay, Nancy. Stop it right there! Is there anything to be done about all of this?

Here comes the what-to-do part of the blog. But please note that this is not expert me telling you how to do “it.” This is me working my way through this particular forest. It’s me trying to find some light to lead me out. And the way I do this sort of thing is—I make lists. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far.

--I will process this slump by writing about it and laughing at myself as I go. That’s what I’m doing with this blog. I’m reflecting, gaining insight, and talking myself into not taking myself so seriously. That’s what the silly title is all about. (Come on! “Slogging through a senior slump”? Is that pathetic or what?)

--I will decide not to beat myself up or apologize for feeling what I’m feeling (or not feeling). I will stop saying, “You’re a poor poet; you’re a failure at prayer; you’re not a good friend” and on and on and on. I don’t need to tell myself those fibs.

--If I’m going to sit around and read books instead of going out and being active, I will at least read good books. These last few weeks, I’ve enjoyed Sara Nisha Adams’ The Reading List; John Simpson’s The Word Detective: Searching for the Meaning of It All at the Oxford English Dictionary; and Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith.

--I will write in my gratitude calendar every day. I asked Hal to give me at Christmas a new Audubon Daily Calendar, the kind with a beautiful photo for each week, with space to write something each day. My idea is to write things I’m thankful for a the end of the day. I confess that a few days I actually could not think of a thing. But I’m getting better at it. I know it’s helping.

--I will remind myself of the rhythms of life. I know that life naturally has ups and downs. If I’m down now, I’m likely to come up again. That sounds like a cliché, but even clichés can carry truth. 

This morning as I sat looking out at the snow (something I’ll write in my gratitude calendar tonight), an old hymn came to mind and I prayed the words of the chorus:

Lord, lift me up and let me stand
by faith on heaven’s tableland;
a higher plane than I have found,
Lord plant my feet on higher ground.

Amen.

Additional information, not necessarily related to the theme of this blog: Looking through the dictionary I discovered the word, slumpflation. It means “a state or period of combined economic decline and rising inflation.” Now aren’t you glad you know that?