A Walker in the Suburbs

This morning a neighbor called us early. She lives on the corner and was going to the store to load up on groceries. Did we need anything? It’s been four days since we’ve been out in the world so I asked for milk and bread and tea. Our food supplies may be dwindling, but neighborliness is in abundant supply.
So, too, is foot travel. With more than two feet of snow clogging our unplowed street and another ten to twenty inches on the way, hoofing it is the only way to go. So into our supercharged suburban world comes a much needed pause. We stroll, we trudge, we slip and slide. We take in the white world at three miles an hour.

Our wide suburban street has shrunk to a single footpath. Why do I find a curious freedom in this restriction? It is, of course, an adventure and won’t wear well with time, but right now I find it liberating. This little path reminds me of how many major highways began, first a beaten trail, then a dusty lane, next a paved road that’s widened to two lanes, then four, then eight. What began as a part of the landscape ends up destroying the landscape. I often try to imagine what our neighborhood was like a hundred years ago. The snow has made this easier to do.