A Fruitful Walk

A Fruitful Walk

Comments 0 Comment

Over the weekend — dodging raindrops — I strolled over to Franklin Farm, through the meadow, past the pond and along West Ox Road, where I re-entered my neighborhood for the final run home.

There’s a shortcut I take sometimes and as I was angling off the main road I noticed blackberries growing wild beside the path. The community meadow used to be full of berries, and I would brave the prickles and poison ivy every year to glean enough fruit to bake a pie.

This year I had no bag or bucket, only my hand, but I gathered enough berries to dress up the fruit bowl and add a tart flavor to the mix. 

I walk for exercise and reflection; I do not walk to eat. But picking these berries reminded me that there was once a greater purpose to movement, that to stay alive meant being able to pack up and walk to the nearest watering hole or hunting ground.

It was a fruitful walk.

Fourth of July Parade

Fourth of July Parade

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday I went to the National Independence Day Parade with my dear friend Kay, who is visiting from France. It was mostly a chance to hang out with her, but it was also an opportunity to soak up the holiday spirit and marvel at the expansiveness of the American dream.

There were high school marching bands from Ohio, Nebraska and Alabama. There were cloggers and Irish steppers and Chinese-American dancers. There were the Sikhs of America holding down a Smokey the Bear balloon.

There was, in short, all manner of celebration and diversity.  Not exactly a small hometown ensemble — but not sophisticated and glitzy, either. More of a medley than I thought possible in these days of politicized newscasts and gerrymandered districts. And that in itself, I think, is worth a parade.

Walking to the Airport

Walking to the Airport

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday I walked from my office to National Airport. This is not something I thought I would do when I woke up and dressed for work. I wore jeans and sandals for “casual Thursday.” I left my running shoes at home. But I have an old pair of shoes (only one small hole, in the right toe) at the office, so about 3 p.m. I slipped into those, turned off my computer and headed out for the five-mile stroll.

The route to DCA took me down the National Mall, across the 14th Street Bridge and along the Mount Vernon Trail. I was on paths or sidewalks the whole time. I saw tourists, patriots, vendors and cyclists. I heard sirens, jackhammers, street musicians and bike bells.

When I got to Gravelly Point, planes were taking off and landing right overhead, and I could hear a Metro car rattle and a freight train whistle. My walk was part of all the activity around me, was heightened and made whole by it.

Casual Thursday

Casual Thursday

Comments 0 Comment

Like most of the rest of the working world (those of us who are working today) I’m wearing jeans and sandals. Also seen in the office today: flip-flops, shorts and a little gray terrier. The pace is slow, the day is short and the mindset is … what is the mindset? I’ve already forgotten.

I’m tempted to hang up a “Gone Fishin'” sign, but I don’t want to check out completely.

Instead, I’m sitting here in office chair, hands on the keyboard, work piled on the desk, summoning up the energy to dive into it.

And I will dive in … any minute now.

Dreaming Up July

Dreaming Up July

Comments 1 comment

A new month, a new leaf. I’ll take any excuse to clear the slate, to see the world with fresh eyes.

As if to prepare for this adventure I had one of those classic insecurity dreams last night. As usual it involved a piano recital I’m expected to play. No rehearsal, of course. Just a last-minute request that I play a difficult piece on stage with no preparation. There’s no way to escape the performance. Humiliation is inevitable.

Last night’s saga had a funny twist. There was sheet music; I wasn’t expected to play from memory. But the score was inflated, like one of those puffy books children can take in the bathtub. That’s strange, I thought, but at least the plump pages will be easier for the page-turner to turn. And by the way, where is that page turner? I woke up before I could find him, but I woke up to realize that — yes, bliss! — I am not playing a recital tonight.

I may have several publications to write and edit, meals to cook and a house to clean for company — but I do not, absolutely do not — have to play the piano before an audience of strangers.

July is looking good.

Cicadas

Cicadas

Comments 0 Comment

I heard them yesterday for the first time this summer and realized what had been missing.

There was warmth, stickiness, day lilies, cobwebs in the woods, ground fog in the morning and red-winged blackbirds in the cattails.

There were industrial strength lawnmowers next door; they made a fine whirring sound. And traffic noise, always more prevalent this season because I’m outside to hear it.

But these weren’t what I was looking for. It was the high-pitched keening, the happy crescendo, the sultry lullaby. I was waiting for cicadas. Now that they’re here, summer can begin.

Skunked!

Skunked!

Comments 0 Comment

I had to stifle a laugh last week when on a hike through the Rocky Mountains I came across a fellow hiker in awe over a deer. In northern Virginia deer are pests — I have to spray my day lilies with deer repellant every night to be sure the buds aren’t eaten — and there are fox, racoons, owls and much more wildlife. A neighbor swears she saw a coyote in her backyard.

Over the weekend I got the most unwelcome of wildlife visits. Saturday night a skunk sprayed Copper, and before I realized what had happened, the dog had come inside and rubbed his back all over the living room carpet.

This was followed by me chasing Copper around the house, finally corralling him in the garage and bathing him in a hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish detergent solution. At which point I set off to deskunk the house.

I dowsed the carpet with baking soda and there are now bowls of vinegar in every room. The good news is the house smells less like skunk. The bad news is it smells more like vinegar.

I guess this is the price I pay to live in a suburban wilderness.

(Photo: Wikipedia; nope, I didn’t take this picture!)

A Walker in the West

A Walker in the West

Comments 0 Comment

Back home now with newspaper headlines and Metro commutes, deadlines and responsibilities. Gone are the open road and limitless horizon, the buffalo and prairie dogs, the thin air and snow-covered peaks.

I took almost 800 pictures, my notebook is full of little things I want to remember: Potato Museum and Miss National Teenage Rodeo Queen. Gentian, Indian Paintbrush and other wildflowers spied on a hike. The rocks labeled on the drive through Powder River Pass: Granite Gneiss, Pre Cambrian, three billion years old, Bighorn Dolomite, 450 to 500 million years old.

But what I most remember isn’t in the notebook. It’s the view of Lone Peak from 8,500 feet. It’s the TR Park ridge trail on a perfect summer morning. It’s looking out over a huge emptiness, buttes in the distance, no roads, no cars, nothing but sagebrush and scrub land.

How different it would be to walk in the west. How various the views and insights. Travel, like walking, is a great restorative. Travel and walking — well, that is hard to beat.

Prairie Dog Companion

Prairie Dog Companion

Comments 0 Comment

First of all, I’m a sucker for animals that sit on their hind legs in cute poses. This is why Copper scores so many doggie treats from me. He learned early on that if he assumes this position his begging yield goes way up.

I would never think of feeding a prairie dog, of course, even without a sign to remind me. But that doesn’t stop me from admiring the little critters, their high-pitched territorial squeals, their fat little bottoms disappearing down almost-too-small burrows, their industriousness and sociability.

True, if you remove the bushy tail you have little more than a rat, but prairie dogs do have tails, which they shake like crazy when a stranger appears.

When I was young I wanted a prairie dog for a pet. This was before I learned that prairie dogs live together in colonies and to take a singleton away from this happy habitat would be to doom it for sure. So I settled for a white mouse. But every time I spot a prairie dog I have a secret desire to bring it home with me. It could be my prairie dog companion.

(No animals were harmed — or fed — in the taking of these photographs.)

Little Walk on the Prairie

Little Walk on the Prairie

Comments 0 Comment

It wasn’t hard to find the Buffalo Gap trail. Just step out of the Buffalo Gap Guest Ranch, walk around the semi parked by the fence and start strolling. You can turn either left or right, the ranch owner, Olie, said. You’ll find 75 miles of trail in either direction.

I didn’t make 75 miles, barely two. But I walked long enough to pick up some ticks and a little sunburn on my shoulders. Long enough to grab some wild sage and rub it between my fingers. Long enough to look around and see grass, grass, grass, and feel a part of that buzzing, blowing world of vegetation.