Time to stop and see the whale bushes
The pressing of this global pause-button allows us to take stock of what truly matters.
TODAY I SAW A BUTTERFLY. And a hummingbird. I also heard a woodpecker, and following that, the most incredible chorus of hooting from a duo of owls. I saw crystal-clear tides ripple against the west coast shoreline, as snow-dusted mountaintops loomed in the distance. In short, on today’s hike with my silly rescued dog, Sarah, and my seven-year-old daughter, nature and her residents were a sight (and sound) to behold.
As delighted as I was by the beauty of the gifts we were given, though, I was simultaneously ashamed. Yes, ashamed. That’s because, near the walk’s conclusion, my daughter pointed out something I’d never noticed before, even though I’ve been hiking this terrain for a decade. “Look, mom,” she said. “The whale bushes. They’re my favorite.” Just as I was about to ask her why she called this seaside cluster of foliage “whale bushes,” I got my answer. Meticulously manicured, the bushes have been fashioned into a single topiary shaped like an orca — as long as a gymnasium is wide — and indeed can be accurately described as “whale bushes.” It’s painfully obvious. One need only be looking. And yet, in all my almost daily walks past this artfully conceived, masterfully landscaped horticultural splendor, I simply hadn’t noticed. In the frenzy of day-to-day life, I have been preoccupied — my mind inundated with to-do lists and deadlines and self-importance.
If there’s one thing we can all agree on at the time of this writing, it’s that life as we know it feels uncertain. Increasingly, conversations include phrases like “self-quarantine” and “social distancing.” There’s a new normal, and at first blush, it can feel a bit (actually, more than a bit) shaky. Our day-to-day conduct has been altered, at least temporarily. Coffee shops, places of worship and retailers are closing their doors, while airlines are canceling flights. All the while, we are being continually reminded: Wash. Your. Hands.
What has emerged in this unprecedented slowdown is a mass shifting of gears. We are being forced to stop and smell the roses, as the old saying goes. Or, as is the case in my own life, to stop and notice the whale bushes. The optimist in me says that the pressing of this global pause-button allows us to take stock of what truly matters. Appreciation for one another. (Is there a neighbor who may need help securing groceries and supplies?) Kindness to the animals. (Is there a shelter that needs help fostering kittens or puppies?) And new eyes for the beauty all around us.
I, for one, will never forget the first time I stopped to see the whale bushes.