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Elevenses

Elevenses

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As a term it is a mouthful, and as a practice … it’s a mouthful, too. But just a nibble of a mouthful. 

Elevenses is a break Brits enjoy at 11 a.m., time to pour a cup of tea, nibble on a biscuit and catch one’s breath during a busy morning. 

I often find myself wanting a snack at 11 a.m., especially if I haven’t had much breakfast. And if I’m walking after a few hours of writing, this is the perfect time to stoke up for the expedition to come. 

Perfect for this repast is a handful of the animal crackers I impulsively bought last week. They have little taste but a satisfying crunch, and they certainly won’t interfere with lunch a couple hours later. 

So here’s to elevenses, a most civilized practice. 

Between the Bands

Between the Bands

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There are flood warnings and tornado warnings here today, as what’s left of Hurricane Debby pummels us from offshore. I slipped out during a lull, which I thought at first might be the eye of the storm, but which was more likely a gap between bands of rain and wind. 

I left sunglasses at home but almost wished I’d worn them as the clouds parted from time to time. For the most part, though, it was a cloudy walk and a wild one. Winds whipping. Sticks crunching beneath my feet. A sense of urgency: get home before the skies open.

I made it, and now I wait for the predicted deluge. We certainly need it. I can almost hear the trees and plants lapping it up.

Late-Day Hike

Late-Day Hike

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It was late enough in the day that dinner was no longer a vague thought. There wasn’t time for a long hike. Luckily, it’s a five-minute drive to half a dozen paths.

Yesterday it was Beckman’s Trail, an easy two-mile loop that wound up and around itself. There were boulders and grass and a strange yellow fungus foaming around the base of a tree. 

The climb was mellow and the air was bracing. It was over far too quickly. 

Highly Walkable

Highly Walkable

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I imagine the walk when I’m falling asleep. It’s not just the lake that makes this place so magical. It’s the landscape around it. And I plunged into it this morning.

Down the lane, across a field still wet from dew, right at the road and up to the intersection, then back onto the peninsula. There are dips and curves, green fields, and glimpses of lake water through trees.

It’s highly walkable, this spit of land where the family has gathered, and I’ll be walking as much of it as I can.

Bouncing Along

Bouncing Along

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Music matters. I believe this always, but especially when choosing the soundtrack for a walk. Today’s choice was Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. 

I started with Number Two, remembering the story my long-ago piano teacher told me about the physical rigors of playing the trumpet solos of that piece. Her husband played the trumpet, she said, and the second Brandenburg was so difficult, even when played on the smaller piccolo trumpet, that one could pop a blood vessel with the effort.

Apparently, she did not make this up. A quick bit of research today tells me that the second Bach Brandenburg Concerto is “a trumpet player’s Everest.”

For a walker, though, it’s an energetic beauty of a piece. It revs one up and keeps one going. And this morning, it kept me bouncing along. 

(One of my favorite music-themed photos, shot May 2010 in Vienna’s Musikverein.)

Tunnels of Reston

Tunnels of Reston

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It’s automatic: I always hold my breath when I walk through a tunnel. Too many years living in cities, where most subterranean sites reek of urine. 

But the tunnels of Reston smell only earthy or musty — and sometimes not even that, depending upon length and time of year. 

Which leaves me free to contemplate the road I’m scooting beneath, the traffic above and the crushed leaves below. The overpass and underpass. Two modes of travel, two ways of life. 

Reston believes in foot traffic, so it only makes sense that Reston believes in tunnels.

(One of Reston’s 25 underpasses.)

Running Water

Running Water

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It’s been a while since I’ve seen running water,  besides what I run through our taps. The streams in my neighborhood, the smallest tributaries of Little Difficult Run, have been dry for weeks. 

Yesterday I walked a section of the Cross County Trail that has a notoriously (to me!) difficult stone crossing. It should be dry enough to skip over, I thought, and decided to try it.

Turns out, that shady section of the trail is one of the few places where I’ve seen running water lately, where I’ve heard the music of liquid sluicing over stones.

I paused for a moment and took in the scene, the glare of sunlight on stream water, the tracery of shadows. I realized what I’ve been missing these last hot, dusty weeks. 

Considering Categories

Considering Categories

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I’ve been taking a look at the categories in my blog, trying to whittle down a list that’s 160 strong, which is about, oh, 150 categories too many. 

Doing this is an exercise not just in taxonomy but identity. That more posts are tagged “walking” than anything else is to be expected — but why so many posts tagged weather? 

When I first realized this, I took myself to task: “Weather, Anne? Really? Can’t you do better than that?” But then I thought about it some more. 

For a blog that’s about place, about noticing, what could be more elemental than the elements? 

Whether it’s the snow that made this blog possible or the heat that’s even now telling me to finish my post and start walking immediately, before the pavement is truly sizzling, weather is not a tepid topic. It’s a living, breathing force we reckon with daily.

Sock it to Me

Sock it to Me

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The newspaper headline caught my eye: “Your Socks are Showing Your Age.” The accompanying photo shows two people who both look young to me, one wearing ankle socks barely visible above their shoes and the other wearing crew socks. 

Apparently, Gen Z is embracing the sort of tall, dorky socks that everyone wanted to leave behind two decades ago, the kind you see on old guys mowing the lawn. Young folks now sport crew socks with sneakers and even with high heels. Take that, Millennials, they say as they flaunt their now-trendy tube socks. 

How old do you have to be before you start seeing fashion as a game? Not very. The youngest Millennials are turning 30. 

As a walker in the suburbs, it only figures that I would have an opinion on socks. They are, after all, the interface between foot and shoe. A well-fitting pair puts a bounce in my step; an ill-fitting pair drives me crazy. With socks, as with so much of life, the best approach is one of moderation: neither too high nor too low is the recipe for happiness.

(Photo from Wikipedia’s page on Socks and sandals, considered a “fashion faux pas” in some places)

Covering Ground

Covering Ground

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There is no clear trail around Lake Audubon. There are twists and turns, hidden paths and a bridge it took me years to find. 

But yesterday the pieces all fell together, the landscapes and the streetscapes. There were wooded straightaways and sunny patches. There was neighborhood walking — perfect for ogling lakeside houses I’d love to live in — and forest glades with dappled shade.

I saw anglers, paddle-boarders and dog-walkers. Everyone was up to something, and I was covering ground. The weekend torpor had vanished with the breeze. 

(Banana trees along the lake. Yes, bananas grow in Fairfax County.)