I’ve been slowly chipping away at a drawing project and finally sat down to work on the coloring portion this week- hours of sedentary work supported by a couple gloomy days. As I sifted through my colored pencils and began coloring in the outlines of my panels, I listened to the entirety of Anne of Green Gables on audiobook. I’d never previously read the book, but I was familiar with the story through some film or television adaptation watched years ago (and on the Prince Edward Island leg of a family trip, had seen Green Gables itself). While I found Anne’s chatty personality and flair for the melodramatic (or “poetical” as she would say) a bit grating, I could see how her boundless imagination and ability to elevate the ordinary in wonder and appreciation was appealing to me growing up, a kid pining for magic and mystery in a suburban environment. Throughout the story, Anne is delighted by her adopted home of Avonlea and celebrates the beauty of surroundings that, for everyone else, are seen as unremarkable. Anne’s sense of wonder towards the everyday feels especially relevant during these times of limitation, when it feels like the scope of the world has shrunk and life in confinement, now going on for several weeks, is beginning to feel rote. In the walks around my own neighborhood, I’ve been trying to borrow from Anne and allow myself to be delighted by elements of this now familiar walkable slice of the world.
This week, I’ve scouted spots for a mental “parade of homes,” honing in on a particular feature of a building or yard that catches my attention and dividing them into made up categories. There’s the best yard art- the apartment with the shrine for La Virgen de Guadalupe featuring a host of characters, including a baby doll wearing a medical face mask. There’s the house on the corner with the stone path carving through the multitude of plants and found object sculptures- winner of best garden- and accolades for smaller details- best tulip patch, most colors of siding used, coolest front door, kitschiest lawn ornaments, and best tree. A walk becomes a time of active observation, intentionally looking for the weird and wonderful amidst the commonplace.
Some of my favorite parts of Anne of Green Gables are the descriptions of the seasons, particularly spring, with the reemergence of flowering trees and colorful blooming. Spring is significant for Anne, it being the time of arrival to her new home and marking the beginning of a fresh start. While Chicago doesn’t possess the rustic charms of Avonlea, it certainly is not lacking in beauty. I recently realized that I haven’t spent May or June in Chicago (or the United States) for the past few years and I’m remembering how it is one of the best seasons in the city. Midwest weather is perpetually fickle, but sunny days appear with increased frequency and warmer temperatures allow bare skin to taste the sunshine. This week, I’ve been particularly noticing color. Reds, purples, yellows, greens feel impossible in their hues and vibrancy, which, in a way, they are, as each flower and plant only has so long to bloom. The improbability of these colors is a spectacle to behold and, while normally I use this time to travel and to experience the visions of faraway places, I relate to Anne in a feeling of delight to be reminded of the local beauty of my home.