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Fifteen Years

Fifteen Years

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Today A Walker in the Suburbs turns 15, its first birthday on the new site. This checks a box I’ve meant to check for years, moving the blog to an address that is completely its own. It’s the evolution of a project that began when I started this blog during Snowmaggedon, a massive snowstorm that shut down ordinary life and gave me the time I needed to bring this concept to life.

Since then, I’ve written plenty about walking in the suburbs, which you might expect, but I’ve also covered music, light, books, travel, writing and the joys of having little people in the house again.

If you have a few minutes, explore some of the 4,544 posts on this site and leave a comment on one (a feature newly added in the blog’s redesign). But most of all, just enjoy the breathing space. And thank you, as always, for reading.

Grieving in D.C.

Grieving in D.C.

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It was a rare early turn-in for me last night. I had one daughter flying to England so first thing this morning I checked to see if her flight had landed. I was grateful to learn that it had, as I always am when a loved one is traveling.

Then I saw the headline. At 8:57 p.m. an American Airlines flight collided midair with a Blackhawk helicopter just outside Reagan National Airport. All passengers and crew are feared dead.

For years I worked next door to National Airport. I walked beside it, looked out the windows of our building to see jets taking off and landing. On long strolls I went to Gravelly Point, where planes sweep in long and low on their way down from the sky. It wasn’t exactly fear I felt I felt watching them, more like awe. But the idea of danger was never far away.

From what I can tell, the collision occurred not far from Gravelly Point. Rescue crews are gathered at the crash scene now, pulling bodies from the wreckage. Across the country and the world, anguished relatives are grieving. My heart goes out to them in a special way. This crash happened in our backyard. For me and for millions, it feels personal.

Here’s the thing about flying. We all know it’s statistically safer than driving a car, something most of us do every day. Yet the fear of flying is real, and always will be. This morning reminds us why.

Half-Mast

Half-Mast

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I see them in the neighborhood, flying halfway up the three flagpoles that grace our block. I saw a large one yesterday, what I think of as a “highway flag,” which I typically associate with the lonely off-ramps of midwestern interstates but which, for some reason, was flying over a car dealership on Route 7 in Loudon County.

Whether small or super-size, the flags have one thing in common: they are all flying half-mast. And for once I know why. I know that they honor the 39th president of the United States, the president who lived the longest, the only one to reach the age of 100.

I’ve read much about James Earl Carter Jr. these last few days. I’ve remembered his many accomplishments, recalled his trials and failures, his rich and noble post-presidency, including a Nobel prize. Here was a president who was alive at the same time as William Howard Taft and has only just gone to his reward.

So often these days I don’t know who or what half-mast flags are about. This time I do, and I realize anew the importance of this tradition, its invitation to remember, to grieve. American flags will be flying at half-mast for 30 days for President Jimmy Carter.

(A flag flies half-mast at Ball’s Bluff Battlefield Memorial Park in Leesburg, Virginia, last Memorial Day.)

Let the Cooking Begin

Let the Cooking Begin

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We’ve measured the tables, all three of them. When joined, there will be 18 feet of dining space with almost as many chairs as we need.

The groceries are (mostly) in the house, and only minor cleaning remains to be done.

Which can only mean one thing: Let the cooking begin! Let the apples be diced and the vinaigrette stirred. Let the celery be chopped, the chestnuts, too, ready to assemble for tomorrow’s stuffing.

Let the turkey breast roast (the extra turkey I’ll have on hand to feed the large crew expected tomorrow). Let the pie crust be rolled and the casseroles baked.

In other words, let as much of tomorrow as possible begin today.

What Matters Most

What Matters Most

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I tried to avoid contact with the outside world this morning, but the news alert function on my computer had other ideas. I can’t say I was surprised. My mind held out hope but my gut told me otherwise. I seldom take an antacid; I swallowed a large dose last night.

The world will go on, I tell myself. As if to prove the point I glimpsed the first fox I’ve seen in months scampering through the the backyard. I cracked the window and sniffed the air spilling through the screen. It’s an aroma that takes me back to earliest childhood: wildness with a metallic overlay.

Nature heals, I tell myself. What matters most is what’s at hand: family, friends, faith, health, home. I hope that everyone in this country can feel the same, no matter which circle they inked in on their ballot.

Trick or Treat?

Trick or Treat?

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The candy bowl will be full when little ghosts and goblins stop by tonight … if they stop by. The number of trick-or-treaters waxes and wanes depending upon weather, the age of neighboring kids, and the timing of the neighborhood Halloween party.

This year, that was held last Sunday. Long enough ago that the treats distributed might have already been consumed. Long enough ago that they’ll need replenishing.

Let’s hope they will. I would hate to have to eat them myself.

A High Wind

A High Wind

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A high wind has sprung up on this day that used to be known as Columbus Day but is now also known as Indigenous People’s Day. It started yesterday, this wind, and though it’s stirring the leaves that have already fallen from the poplar and the witch hazel, it isn’t, as far as I know, leading to any rain.

When the big gusts come, they blow aside the bamboo that now nearly obscures my view of the black gum tree. Black gum leaves can put on quite a show in late October, so I’m happy for this glimpse of them, for their phosphorescence and their beauty.

Mostly I’m thinking about this country, on this day three weeks and a day away from a contentious election. I’m thinking about how divided we are, a division that is implied in the two names we have for this day.

Who owns this country? It’s a question I hope we never stop asking.

Hitting Home

Hitting Home

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The monster storm known as Milton made landfall last night about 9:30 p.m. It came ashore on the very same Florida beach I’ve been escaping to for more than a decade, Siesta Key.

A barrier island known for its sugar-white sand and relaxed village vibe, Siesta Key is a place I’ve come to know and love. The thought of it pummeled by 120-mile-an-hour winds and submerged under 10 feet of storm surge is making my stomach turn.

It’s too early yet to tell the extent of the damage. I’m hoping it’s minimal, but I’m afraid it’s not. In other words, Florida is still on my mind.

(A Siesta Key evening, 2023)

A Prayer for Asheville

A Prayer for Asheville

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As the death toll mounts in North Carolina, I think about the beauty of the place and the terror of the storm. Most of all, I think about the lives lost. More than 100 already confirmed dead; 200 still missing.

We visited Asheville almost two years ago. It was a quick trip sandwiched in between obligations. It was January, and a cold rain fell one of the three days we were there. But despite the weather and the haste, I loved the place: its mountain beauty, its funky vibe.

Now, residents are searching for survivors, digging out homes, queueing for water. At this moment, Asheville is not a resort town; it’s a crisis zone. My heart goes out to all those in Western North Carolina. May you find relief soon.

Sunset in Asheville, January 9, 2023

An Appetizer

An Appetizer

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You’d think I would know what it was, but when I heard the pop last night in the car, my first thought was that it was coming from the radio. 

Instead, it was coming from the fireworks that were exploding off to my left, filling the night sky with light as I drove north toward home. 

I could only catch glimpses of the display, but they were a perfect appetizer for tonight’s full-course meal.