Serenity

We spent Mother's Day weekend out in the Oregon high desert where El Profesor grew up.  He grew up on the high desert plateau, 5,000 feet above sea level with long, cold winters and hot, dry summers--'the dry side' as some Oregonians refer to the side of Oregon east of the Cascade Mountains.  I grew up on 'the wet side', in the Willamette River Valley, 500 feet above sea level, in town.  When El Professor first took  me out into the high desert I found it fascinating, marveling at the tumbleweed all along the barbed wire fence lines.  Overall, though, it seemed drab to me--dry bluffs, juniper, sagebrush and blah.

Over the years, I have grown to love the high desert.  When our kids were young we stopped along the road at a little 'town spot' (a store and a lot of wide open space) on the way to El Professor's childhood home and the kids marveled at the sound.  It was The Silence.  It was so very silent that it pressed on your ears, ears so accustomed to the steady drone of town.  

This Mother's Day weekend the high desert was awakening from winter.  Snow was still in the higher hills, but the trees and shrubs were just beginning to leaf out, the daffodils were in bloom and the wild flowers were flourishing in their dusty places.  Away from the hustle and bustle of town, away from the dense, busy underbrush of the Willamette Valley, way out in the desert I experience serenity.