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The Leveler

The Leveler

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It’s a flag-snapping, low-humidity day, the kind I was hoping to have all month long. Weeping cherry boughs are swaying in the breeze and the back door is open to the sounds of the day, which is strangely bereft of cicada song (more on that, or the lack of that, later). 

A walk took me through the neighborhood, up and down the main street and the cul-de-sacs, my new home route: longer, as befits my schedule, and slower, as befits my joints. 

Which gave me more time to ponder the grand equation, one seldom acknowledged but always there, somewhat akin to Newton’s Third Law — “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction” with a touch of Ecclesiastes — “to everything there is a season.” 

In other words, there’s a built-in leveler that sees to it that we are paid back for sweltering humidity with perfect days like these. 

Lake Anne, Part 2

Lake Anne, Part 2

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I’m so used to walking clockwise around Lake Anne that the other day when I strolled counter-clockwise with a friend I felt the world tilt a little. I also saw unexpected vistas. But this isn’t about that walk. It’s about three days later, when I went around the lake the right way (my right way, that is!).  Maybe I needed a stroll in the opposite direction to balance things out. 

Leaving the plaza behind, I passed quickly onto a wooded trail and then to a sunny embankment where morning light touched the tall grass.  

From there it felt good to slip into a shaded neighborhood, cool and inviting, lake water lapping at the shore. The townhouses here are some of Reston’s oldest (old being a relative term in Reston). I admire the variety of plantings, the lavender and roses, the whimsical touches.

Everywhere I looked was sparkling lake water, supporting a flotilla of kayaks or sending plumes of spray into the June sky.

I knew I’d come full circle when I reached an arched footbridge over a tributary. I wish I’d snapped a picture of that, too. But alas, it seems the only part of the walk I did not photograph. Next time …

Lake Anne: Part 1

Lake Anne: Part 1

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While I am in no mood for a staycation, I did feel like a tourist in my own town when I walked around Reston’s Lake Anne Saturday morning after buying strawberries at the farmer’s market.

I parked near a pedestrian tunnel and entered the plaza near the fountain. A brunch crowd was gathering at Local VA, an outdoor spinning class was in full swing, and merchants in booths were selling homemade ceramics, finger puppets, filmy scarves, imported rugs and hand-painted notecards. 

The big show was in the parking lot farmer’s market, where you could find tomatoes and greens and other seasonal delights. After I stowed the berries in the car, I walked around the lake, snapping photos as I strolled. More on the Lake Anne walk tomorrow …

The Afternoon Amble

The Afternoon Amble

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Twice this week I’ve found myself out for a jaunt not at 10 or 11 a.m. but at 3 or 4 p.m. It’s warmer by then, so I drive to the Glade Trail where tall trees arch across the paved walk and shade pools in deep pockets along the way. 

There are fewer cars parked along the road at that hour, fewer walkers, too. And the ones I see tend to keep their heads down. I’m fine doing that, too, so strolling at that hour tends to feel more solitary.

The air is heavier and the pace is slower, with time to sniff the honeysuckle or take a detour on one of the side paths that wind into the woods. 

On Thursday, the air was so steamy that I felt as slow-moving as the stream, now in full summer dawdle. Forty-five minutes in, I noticed that heavy clouds had moved in and there was a pre-storm excitement that made me pick up my pace. 

I hadn’t been home more than 15 minutes when the skies opened and rain sheeted the house and yard. 

An afternoon amble, just in time.

Eye Candy

Eye Candy

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Walking through an Eastside Portland neighborhood yesterday, I saw roses and rhododendron, lavender and wisteria, poppies and fuchsia. I saw tall fir trees tipped with new green growth. 

I didn’t actually dig into the soil, but from the profusion of bloom, it appears that most anything will grow here except maybe cactus. I’m not much of a gardener, but with inspiration like this I think I could become more of one. What struck me as I strolled was the pleasure these flowers bring to the eye. Looking at them felt elemental, as if I was taking sustenance from the stems, leaves and blossoms. 

Waterfront Walk

Waterfront Walk

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The Seattle waterfront is a boisterous place. You can almost imagine early settlers here, lumberjacks and Gold Rush guys — such is the energy of the ferries and buskers and tourists and water taxis. 

There was a pier you could walk on to be more at one with the water and the waves. The guy sitting at the end of it yelled down to me. “How big do you think that fishing boat is? I think about 40, 50 feet,” he said. I said yes, having absolutely no reason to disagree with him. 

I wanted to move beyond all of this, though, to a place where water met land. So I kept walking north, toward Alaska (as the sign said), to the Olympic Sculpture Garden and a little cove where driftwood and drifters gathered. I could have walked all day, but I had a train to catch. 

Path Not Taken

Path Not Taken

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No long hikes yesterday, but several walks around the neighborhood. I explored the Cathedral of St. James, a local bookstore, the leafy streets around this hotel and a college campus with green paths and rhododendrons tall as trees. 

It’s hard to say which kind of day I like better, the long-hike ones or the short-foray ones. The first is the sweeping overview, the second a drilling down, an immersion in the particular, like finding a good cafe for take-out hot tea that is not Starbucks.

The kind of day I had yesterday makes me think about what it would be like to live here, to be part of the rhythms and moods of this place. It’s something I do whenever I travel, a creative exercise, pondering the path not taken.

Lake Union Walk

Lake Union Walk

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Lake Union is a freshwater lake contained entirely within the city limits of Seattle. It’s a port, a neighborhood and a playground — and we walked all the way around it yesterday.

We trekked from Westlake to Eastlake, from the Center for Wooden Boats to Gas Works Park. We crossed the Fremont Bridge and the University Bridge. We sometimes wandered off course, but always found our way back again.

The trail was a visual feast, with skyline city views, en plein air artists capturing the gas works in watercolor, boats stacked on boats, floating homes tucked away in private coves, roses blooming in pocket-handkerchief-sized gardens, even a goose and goslings. 

Yes, the feet are a little sore this morning, but what a way to see the city!

Shimmering

Shimmering

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Over the weekend, there were walks without clock-watching, walks through every cul-de-sac in Folkstone, starting off slowly and gathering speed only when the body felt ready. 

Walks with frequent pauses, not for breath but for beauty. 

The azaleas were shimmering … and I couldn’t resist. 

Sauntering

Sauntering

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Writing a blog called A Walker in the Suburbs means I’ve become familiar with all the lovely synonyms for walking: strolling, ambling, rambling, trekking, treading and wandering. By far one of my favorites is sauntering. But until yesterday I never thought much about its derivation. It was while looking up Thoreau on another quest that I found this, from his essay “Walking”: 

I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks — who had a genius, so to speak for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived ‘from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre,’ to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, ‘There goes a Sainte-Terrer,’ a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander.”

Although some would say the word “saunter” comes from “sans terre,” without land or home, Thoreau continues, this is fine, too, because being without a home can also mean being equally at home everywhere — and that in fact is the secret of successful sauntering.  

I’m looking forward to more sauntering and more Thoreau.