By the time this issue arrives in your mailbox, Oregon will be in the full embrace of spring. But as I write this, we are still in early March, watching for portents that winter is over and the annual rebirth is beginning. The hellebores are showing off and crocuses are popping from Portland’s lawns like bright gems, but the daffodils are still green. There is a sense of anticipation in the air—a collective intake of breath before action.
The stories in this issue are not about flowers, really. These stories are about growing up and getting old, about celebrating places we’ve lost and finding new places to call home, about remembering where we come from and passing knowledge on to the next generation. They are stories about becoming.
The blooming that happens every spring, that will happen between when I write these words and when you read them, is showy and memorable, but it is only one step in the journey that begins with a seed and ends with fruit. As you enjoy the flowers this year, try to remember the roots that allow them to exist.
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I retired to Oregon and was unprepared for the ferocity of the blooming and fruiting seasons. Azaleas that are grand bushes, not little potted plants; peaches with juice that drips from the chin, not hard, round, fuzzy fruits. Farmer's markets that glorify summer. Oregon Humanities magazine and what I have learned from it are part of that blooming and fruiting. I hope it continues.
Sharon A. Johnson | April 2025 | Milwaukie
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