Browsed by
Category: walking

Forest Bathing

Forest Bathing

Comments 0 Comment

Shinrin yoku — Japanese for forest bathing — is the practice of immersing one’s self in a forest or other natural environment to relieve stress. Practitioners walk slowly through the woods, marveling at the shades of green.They aren’t there to bike down a hill or hike up a mountain. The journey is their destination. It is enough simply to be outside, to inhale the scent of pine.

I like the imagery involved, the idea that one can slide into a forest as if into a tub of warm water.  That its beauty will surround and calm and lift up.

A walk in the suburbs is not always a bath in the forest. It’s too fast, too purposeful. Often, there are no forests involved.

But even the briefest and most cursory stroll works its magic. I leave the house with fists clenched, brow furrowed. I return renewed and refreshed, reminded that we are not just creatures of rooms and screens. That after all, we are born of earth and will return to it, that every visit there is going home.

Natural Cool

Natural Cool

Comments 0 Comment

We leapt from a rainy June to a sizzling July, and are now measuring the heat index instead of the precipitation.  On my slow walks this weekend I sought the relative cool of the shady stretches that line Folkstone Drive.

Is there any cool better than natural cool? I know what the air conditioning devotees will say. Of course there is. It’s the cranked-down chill of a 72-degree office or living room. And don’t get me wrong. On days when the mercury climbs toward 100, it’s mighty nice to step inside a well-chilled house.

But there is also something to be said for the deep woods, for ferns waving in a slight breeze, for soil that is still a bit moist from last month’s downpours, for a creek gurgling in the distance.

For sections of road where tree branches lace overhead and spread their shade to the pavement below. For old houses with thick walls flanked by tall oaks.

There is something to be said for natural cool.

Slow Gait

Slow Gait

Comments 0 Comment

This morning’s walk was more an amble than a trot. I was afraid it would be boring; it wasn’t. Thoughts flowed much as they do when I walk fast. But they were deeper, had pooled longer in the mind before bubbling to the surface.

When I was a little girl, I remember Mom explaining the five gaits of saddlebred horses. There’s the walk, trot and canter, the natural gaits, she said. But saddlebreds have two additional, special gaits — slow gait and rack.

At the Junior League Horse Show, which was held every summer at the Red Mile Trotting Track in Lexington, prim matrons with smooth blond chignons sat ramrod-straight in the saddle as their mounts pranced their way around the track. When it was time for the fifth and final gait, the announcer said, “Rack on.”

I’ll “rack on” another day. For me, today, it was slow gait.

Drizzly Day

Drizzly Day

Comments 0 Comment

Copper and I are having a hard time getting out this morning. Neither one of us wants to brave the rain. And since I was counting on a walk to provide the inspiration for this morning’s post … I’m late here, too. The doors are open, but the bodies aren’t moving.

What I’ve done instead: write, edit, prepare a story to publish Monday, try to finish one I started earlier this week. And in between: tidying up, doing laundry and making beds.

It’s the kind of day I’d like to spend reading a book straight through from start to finish. Or organizing a closet. Or maybe even napping.

But there are errands to run, an article to finish and, if it ever clears up, a walk to take.

Whistle Them Home

Whistle Them Home

Comments 0 Comment

It was after 6:00 p.m. yesterday and the children — two boys, one  girl — were angling for some park time.  “You can play outside for a while, but you have to come in when I whistle for you,” said the mother. Maybe she was in the middle of cooking dinner, or had just changed from her work clothes. Or maybe she works at home, as I did when the girls were young.

But the whistling, that was unique. No texting, no agreed-upon time to be home. Just wait for the whistle. A bit canine,  to be sure. But deliciously old-fashioned.

Where I grew up in Lexington, only one family had a dinner bell. Other parents just cupped their hands around their mouths and yelled for their kids to come home in the evening. “Johnnnnny! Sallllly!” (Children had primary reader names back in those days.) These ersatz bullhorns are the original communication device, are they not?

And they did the job.  The kids came running home.

(These tunnels — I call them “snake eyes” — are near the park where the kids were playing.) 

The Journey

The Journey

Comments 0 Comment

Walking has its charms, many of which I’ve detailed here. It is good for the body and the soul, a moving meditation.  It is also, I thought on an early stroll this morning, a reflection of the inevitable changes we endure.

I use the word “endure” because so many of these changes are not ones we seek or desire. They are just life, with its comings and goings, its highs and lows. Colleagues leave, jobs change, bodies falter and fail.

Walking is all about moving through space, about not getting too attached to any viewpoint or position. It’s about the journey and taking what we can from it.

Awesome Air

Awesome Air

Comments 0 Comment

A walk last night after work, late enough that the sun slanted low in the sky, blinding me as I walked west.

Weeks of rain were forgotten, blue sky ruled. But it was the air that caught my attention.

It was weightless and fine-tuned, a caress.

Can’t Wait

Can’t Wait

Comments 0 Comment

An early walk this morning through a damp May morning. Peonies hang their heads, roses, too. Iris stand upright, beards glistening, and grasses gleam with moisture. I tip the heavy planter where the new impatiens are struggling to root; they’re almost floating in water, we’ve had so much rain.

It’s the time of year when everything seems most alive. Cardinals sing and swoop. Copper comes inside drenched from rainwater he’s picked up from scooting underneath the azalea bushes.  Honeysuckle scent wafts from a tangle of greenery down at the corner. I inhale deep whiffs of it coming and going.

How nice it would be if I could follow this day through its moments. If I could walk, run, bounce and pedal through it. If I could be present for its drowsy afternoon.

Instead, I clean up and drive, walk, Metro and bus to the city. I write these words in a clean, calm office building made of steel and glass. The buzzing, blaring natural world seems far away.

I can’t wait to get back to it.

Ramping Down

Ramping Down

Comments 0 Comment

National Airport is only a mile from my office, less as the crow flies (though Google Maps doesn’t chart crow-fly mileage).  But it took me half an hour to navigate yesterday because of the time I spent  backtracking.

The problem was that I had walked from the office to the airport but never the other way around. I  had the general idea but couldn’t figure out the specifics (like finding the bridge that crosses the parkway and the railroad tracks). Airport signage (in fact, most signage) does not favor walkers!

Eventually I found the road that led to the ramp that led to Crystal City. It all seemed so easy once it fell into place. I was on the downward slope, heading back to office and home.

(The first National Airport terminal in 1941, shortly after it opened. Courtesy Library of Congress.)

The Walking Wait

The Walking Wait

Comments 0 Comment

Arlington’s ART 43 bus is punctual enough to set your watch to — although I suppose no one sets a watch anymore. But through the months I’ve ridden the “Art 43” I’ve come to count on its regularity.

This morning was another story. I figured there was a good excuse, and there was. An accident on the route tied up traffic for miles. But I waited … and waited. A small crowd soon formed.

What’s more important, though, is how I waited. On a Metro platform you can pace but you can’t walk. When you’re waiting for this bus, at least in the morning, you can walk — because the bus makes a little jog around a short block, and if you walk clockwise around the stop, you’ll see the bus in time to run for it.

All of which is to say that today I walked while I waited.

The walking wait (waiting walk?) is not the most restful walk I take. But it’s better than just plain waiting.

(Rice paddies in the sun. I figure if the walk wasn’t restful, at least the picture can be.)