Kate Forrest
In my grandparents’ living room, there was a 1960s era oil painting of a summer scene: a lake, with a tree-lined path snaking around one side of the water, and cloudy blue skies on the horizon. The trail disappeared off the painting and I always wanted to know where it went.

The painting no doubt came from the five-and-dime store, G.C. Murphy Co., where my grandmother worked for a number of years. But as a kid, I was convinced it was a Bob Ross original. I used to sit at my grandparents’ feet on a braided rug, nibbling away on a bologna and lettuce sandwich, watching Bob Ross on their old boxy television. I’d glance back at that painting above my grandmother’s recliner, thinking how special it was that she owned a piece of Bob’s art, complete with friendly trees and all.

Sometimes I catch myself in places that take me back to that painting, like walking in Hurley Park this week.

Past the pond, along the pathway under the trees, there is a spot where the foliage clears out over the creek, offering a view of the grassland and woodlands that line the northern boundary of the park. With the sweet smells of honeysuckle and yellow jessamine blowing in the breeze and the melody of songbirds surrounding me, it is impossible not to envision that painting in my grandparents’ living room.

I linger on the memory, then carry on walking the trail in Hurley Park. Unlike the path in the painting, I know exactly where this route will take me: on an oblong loop back to the pond. But in the few weeks since I last visited, there has been a transformation. The expected is unknown again as April rains have brought the park’s springtime wonders to life.

The pink azaleas look radiant and a rare orange azalea is starting to flower. There is a hint of white in the main azalea garden, promising a display not to be missed. The spiderwort leaves are speckled with a handful of butterfly-shaped indigo blooms and the groupings of columbine look magnificent, with hundreds of fiery red crown-shaped flowers filling the landscape.

A few daffodils linger, caught in a pocket of sunshine near the purple notched petals of the moss phlox, one of my favorite groundcovers. The dogwood tree blossoms are disappearing among the leaves, and fronds of the understory’s ferns have unfurled alongside the fetterbush’s clusters of bell-shaped flowers.
Within a week, the landscape will evolve again, and the path through the park will lead somewhere new — past a woodland garden of snow-white azaleas and other plants yet to show their colors.

As the petals begin to curl and drop to the ground, April will end, having brought the green spaces of Salisbury back to life.

Kate Forrest lives in Salisbury. She has written nonfiction essays for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and her debut novel, The Crusader’s Heart, was published in September 2018.