Matthew Gallaway

Notes from Western Pennsylvania (Green Carpets of Spring)

Flying into to Pittsburgh on Tuesday, I didn't see much evidence of spring. But on Wednesday morning, I discovered a carpet of green in the woods where I went running. 

I was unfortunately too early for the trilliums. 

But it was exciting to see them getting ready. I felt like I was backstage before a big performance. 

Small signs of spring were everywhere. 

I took my mother to a nearby lake, where swimming was prohibited. My mother longed to be in the water. 'There's something so nice about not having to worry about falling,' she explained, which made me think about being ninety-three years old. 

I felt a bit precarious running across a narrow bridge in the woods. 

But the green carpet was reassuring. 

I crossed a dry creek bed, which made me think about changing weather patterns. Was this dry creek a sign of more to come or a remnant of the past? 

For now, it was enough to enjoy the flowers in the trees. 

March of the Forsythias (2025)

I waited for a break in the rain to go to the park, which I had been thinking about all week. I didn't want to miss the forsythias, which are always a highlight for me. 

Many trees were also in bloom. The otherworldly beauty of spring was an escape from the otherworldly chaos enveloping our country.  

The forsythias cascading over the cliffs did not disappoint. 

If anything, they looked better under the gray skies. 

It's been unusually cold this spring, the way it used to be when April was considered 'the cruelest month.' 

I thought about how Trump is killing anything related to the study of global warming and its many effects. 

And if the cool, wet weather this April is evidence that Nature 'got the memo' and planned to 'go back to normal.' 

But mostly I didn't want to think about Trump. It was nice to take in the landscape for a minute as I practiced my 'box breathing' technique. 

I imagined that I was young and wide-eyed, just one in a flock of daffodils about to take off. 

Notes on Cambridge (Leave Home)

If you have the time and the option, I recommend taking a day-time flight to Europe. My flight left JFK at 9:00 AM and arrived in London at 7:30 PM, which allowed me to avoid the thing where you take off at night and a few hours later are confronted with nauseating specter of the rising sun as the light forces its way through the cracks of the window shades. After landing, I found my driver, who dropped me off in Cambridge -- where I spent the week for work -- at around 10:30 PM. I was able to go to sleep by around 1:30 am, which isn't too far off of my usual schedule.

On Sunday, a work colleague took me on a bike ride in the countryside north of Cambridge. We stopped at a bridge that was built a few years ago to allow pedestrians and bikers (and probably a few animals) to cross the highway. On the way back to town, we went to a pub, which was crowded with people taking their mothers out for Mother's Day, which is much earlier in the UK than in the US.

Bike infrastructure in Cambridge is much better than it is around New York City (and probably anywhere else in the US). Above is a shot of one floor of a three-story parking garage dedicated to bikes.

On Monday morning, I went for a run on the path adjacent to the 'dedicated busway' and was astounded by the constant stream of bikers commuting into the city. Why can't we build such things in the United States?

Every morning, I managed to go for a run. The weather was unusually sunny, and I didn't want to let these perfect days go to waste. 

Some of the greens around Cambridge still have cows.

All the greens are crisscrossed by pathways for bikers and runners to get from one side to the other.

It's still daffodil season in the UK.

The center of the city is dominated by the many 'colleges' of Cambridge University, each of which has its own walled-in campus.

There are many footbridges that cross the canal, which circles the northern half of the city.

On Wednesday morning, I spent an hour in the Cambridge University Botanical Garden, whose magnificent trees reminded me that I was in a new (old) world.

Much of the garden was bathed in the shimmering, effervescent green of early spring.

Leaves were just starting to unfurl, which meant I could admire the architecture of the tree branches.

There are also many evergreens, such as this Scots pine.

I was enthralled by the rock garden. 'Please take over the world,' I whispered to the low, creeping plants. 'It's time for the Anthropocene to end.'

The rock garden has a grotto-esque feature where you can descend between the rocks.

As I walked through the gardens, I enjoyed a sense of contentment. Some of this feeling arose from the relief of being outside of the United States, which has obviously been a source of intense chaos and turmoil, and some of it arose from being removed from the other obligations of daily life that are suspended while traveling. There were things that I missed about being home -- or people, like Stephen and Clio -- but I felt like I could envision a different, better life, one stripped of the more exasperating features of how I live now. Change seemed desirable, even feasible.

I also enjoyed having the chance to spend a week with my non-American work colleagues, which is a kind of 'immersive' travel experience that I found satisfying because it allowed me to feel like I was 'at home' even though I was abroad, in contrast to how I usually feel, which is like 'a foreigner' in my own country.

It helps that most of my colleagues, by nature of the work we do, are interested in books and ideas that can reflect and sometimes change society.

For a few days, I became a slightly less cynical version of myself.

It made me hope that one day, instead of complaining about things that make me unhappy, I might leave them behind forever.

Late March (Daffodil Season)

Every day, I thought, the park gets slightly more beautiful, just as the government gets slightly more unhinged. 

I tried to focus on the flowers, whose beauty was surprising but nevertheless predictable. It's the perfect combination, something we could all try to emulate, and by 'we' I mean the government. 

Each year, I know the daffodils are coming, but when they finally arrive, I feel like I've forgotten how perfect they are, dotting the landscape in cheerful clusters. They never have any idea what's happening, which is funny and sad. 

Next week, I'm going to another country (not a metaphor), where the spring is 'slightly further along.' Everyone keeps telling me that the weather is going to be 'perfect' and offers as evidence a temperature in Celsius, which I can never seem to fathom. My ignorance has made packing a challenge! 

I'm looking forward to seeing the gardens abroad, but I know I'll miss seeing the slow progression of the flowers here. 

It's been a long time since I've left the country. One of these times, I think, I might not come back. 

But this is not that time, and I'm still looking forward to April, when the forsythias will be in full bloom, cascading down the hillside like they did last year, and the year before that. 

 

Edgeworthia Chrysantha Paperbush (March Sadness)

I ran through the park and stopped to admire a clump of daffodils, which were just about to flower. 

It's a good time to be in the city. At first, when you step outside, it seems like it's still too cold, but if you can find your way into the sun, it's perfect. 

If I had a daughter, I thought, I would have named her after this plant. 'Edgeworthia Chrysantha Paperbush, please put down your iPhone and eat your dinner!' 

The hellebores are too dignified to indulge in such games, however. 

The Korean rhododendron is blooming early this year. 

As I do every March, I took some pleasure in my complete ambivalence for 'March Madness,' the college basketball tournament. I remembered being in ninth grade, where our public-school homerooms were arranged by alphabetical order, which meant that I sat next to 'Lisa Garvey' for an entire year. She came in one Tuesday morning in early April, excited because 'her team' -- I want to say that it was UNC -- had either won or lost the NCAA championship, and she had stayed up late with her father watching it. 

Forty years later, I share her excitement, but only for the return of spring heather garden. 

Spring Light

After years of lobbying my city council member (and giving him campaign money, which I came to regret) for new trees on our block but getting no results, I had lost faith. But this week the sidewalk was marked for new tree pits and new trees. (I should note that the city council member I initially lobbied has moved on to a higher-profile position; whether he played any role in getting us trees is still to be determined.) 

I hope the trees are planted soon. If not, I fear that Trump will 'claw back' the funds to pay for these street trees since they are not being used for oil and gas production or to subsidize tax cuts for the very rich. 

Running along the river, I was excited to see the witch hazel in bloom. 

The cold winter was finally coming to an end. 

I was determined to enjoy the spring temperatures, thinking that they will probably only last a few weeks before it becomes unbearably hot. 

Clio was also excited to bask in the sun. 

Over the past few years, she's gotten much better at 'coming in' from the garden when we call her. I wondered if I could point to similar 'benchmarks of progress' in my own life. 

I was surprised to find the aconite in bloom. When had that happened? 

At least in the garden, everything is about to change for the better. 

The Clio Project (Cats)

With Stephen out of town, I've been spending most of my time with Clio. I've often wondered what it would be like to live like a house cat -- I once saw something from a Japanese blogger who followed his cat around for a few days and mimicked its gestures and actions* -- and this is the closest I suspect I'll get to that experience. 

*I would not want to annoy Clio by doing this. 

Each morning, we gauge the temperature and decide if it's worth going out. 

There's a lot to see, even if it's not quite spring yet. But the light is more inviting and the temperatures are less exasperatingly frigid. 

'I'm not sure what compelled me to jump on this narrow railing, but it makes me feel alive.' -- Clio

Otherwise, Clio likes to get frequently brushed. 

To live with a cat is to appreciate small, habitual pleasures, which is good to think about whenever I'm inclined to judge myself by impossible and arbitrary standards of artistic, financial, and material success. 

Clio's favorite thing is to be brushed. My favorite thing is [200 pages later]. 

Clio enjoys sticking her head through the bannisters when I walk down the stairs, so that I can reach through and scratch her ears. 

She isn't exactly a 'lap cat' but sometimes she will deign to sit awkwardly on my arm. 

Whenever anyone talks about species other than humans -- such as bacteria or whatever -- secretly ruling the world, I think about cats.  

Standing at the Gates of Death (Fog)

On Sunday night, I walked south on Amsterdam Avenue past the Trinity Church Cemetery, which was enshrouded in fog. It was, I felt confident, the most peaceful place on earth.

Unfortunately, the gate was locked, so I could only stare through the fence at the tombstones, the trees, and the beautiful lamplights. 

I've had many dreams and aspirations in my life, and most of them have ebbed and flowed except for one, which has been constant: the dream to have my remains (along with those of Stephen and our cats) entombed in large, decrepit crypt in Trinity Church Cemetery. 

If I had billions of dollars, I thought, I wouldn't waste my time destroying the federal government. I would put aside however many millions I needed to reserve and construct a crypt (nothing modern; it would have to be 'period'), and then (after chartering a yacht on Below Deck Mediterranean) give the rest to animal-rescue organizations around the world.  

The lamplights illuminated a path, showing the way. 

The Trees of Winter (Mid February)

This has been the first winter in a long time that we've had snow on the ground for more than a few days. 

I ran to the park, where the trees, dusted with snow, seemed to vibrate against the pale gray sky. 

Someone had fed the sparrows. 

The heather was a good reminder that it's possible to keep blooming in the depths of winter. (This will mark the beginning and end of my political analysis of 'current events.') 

I thought about everything that was happening and knew that I wouldn't post about any of it. The conundrum of social media is that it feels somehow disrespectful or glib to post lolcats or other diversions, but it also feels unbearably tedious to offer another 'take' on whatever is unfolding politically. 

The internet would be a trillion times better if we had stopped with blogs. 

'Imagine there's no FB ... no Twitter ... no Insta ... it's easy if you try.' -- John Lennon

For some reason, I feel like blogging is different. It's a little less 'thirsty.' There's no 'feed' and no 'ad revenue.' 

I wanted to remember how beautiful the trees were. 

Lookout Lookout

Today was cold with a foreboding, gray sky that made it seem like the forecast for snow tonight would be accurate. On my run, I thought about my father, who died one year ago, and how the year in which he had been gone made him seem very far away at times, but also closer at others. The surreal combination of death and the passage of time made me feel like life itself was a dream or a hallucination. I like to think of him with me, advising and even consoling. 

I spent the week listening to Perfume Genius, whose early songs make me feel small and sad but somehow cleansed of this smallness and sadness. His line about a murdered sex worker hits even harder at a time when those who question or reject traditional 'family norms' are being attacked by our own government, highlighting the worthlessness with which anyone who is 'different' is viewed. 

'Keep your wits

He will not be missed

He didn't have a family to begin with.

Lookout, lookout, there are murders about.' 

-- Perfume Genius 'Lookout Lookout'