I wouldn’t want to live next to it, but the oil pipeline a couple miles from here has at least one thing to recommend it, and that is its paved path. I walked it on Saturday, right after mailing my letters.  Starting on McLearen, sun-warmed in the brisk air, I dipped off onto a trail I’d tramped long ago, turning left instead of right, navigating a fair-weather crossing right after a dog and his owner had just decided not to attempt it (the man was game but the dog was having none of it). 

From there it was just a bend and a hill-trudge from a buckled, fir-shaded, needle-strewn path along the greensward. Though I enjoy the meditative woods walk, there is much to be said for a stroll that skims the backs of houses. There’s an intimacy there you don’t find otherwise. 

I had a front-row seat on screened-in porches, knock-out roses and garden gates. There were trampolines, bird baths, even campaign signs. And on the path, a complement of fellow walkers who seemed as happy as I was to be alive and walking on such a fine fall morning.