I like to wander.
My love for walking without a destination began when I was little. We lived on an acre of land, surrounded by hundreds of acres of our neighbors’ woods and farmland that my brothers and I were free to roam. As long as we had our dog with us, we could go as far as we wanted, and we did. It seems strange to think about this now. I’m not sure how many parents would have the same level of trust. I do have nieces and a nephew in Colorado, and I believe they know this meandering freedom. They are hikers. They go with their parents to climb mountains at amazing heights. I like to imagine that the kids take off on their own too. I’m not sure. I’ve never really asked them, but I hope this “tradition” of mine is a part of their lives.
To be willing to wander is to be open to new experiences. It instills a sense of self-confidence.
When I left my country home and started living in cities, I had to learn to walk in a different environment. At first, it was scary. Humans are not as shy as other species. We can be mean, rude, dismissive, exclusive, and all kinds of other scary things, but we can also be friendly and compassionate. I experienced mostly kindness on my city walks, and I fell in love with my new setting. I fell in love with architecture, store fronts, cafes, bars, and food markets. Most of all, I loved hearing a collection of languages around me and seeing people who looked different from me.
I was brought up to think that difference was beautiful, and I am still fascinated by variety.
As I struggle now with arthritis in my hip, I can not walk as far as I’d like. I have to take a lot of breaks, and I have to be alert. There is a lovely spaciness to able-bodied ambling. You rarely think about your body. You just go. I never used to worry about tripping or falling. Now I have to be aware of every sidewalk crack or patch of ice. I have to look at my feet all the time, so I miss things.
However, I am not writing this for pity. Being forced to slow down has had its advantages. While I may miss the bigger picture in front of me, I take notice of other details. A lot of insects have been spared my heels, and I’ve learned to identify trees by their bark. John Stilgoe, author of Outside Lies Magic, would be proud of me. The basic thesis of his book is that you should see your town fully, by bicycle or walking. Here’s the first paragraph of his awesome book:
“Get out now. Not just outside, but beyond the trap of the programmed electronic age so gently closing around so many people at the end of our century. Go outside, move deliberately, then relax, slow, look around. Do not jog. Do not run. Forget about blood pressure and arthritis, cardiovascular rejuvenation and weight reduction. Instead pay attention to everything that abuts the rural road, the city street, the suburban boulevard. Walk. Stroll. Saunter. Ride a bike, and coast along a lot. Explore.”
While we were on vacation, we took a trail from behind the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History out to Cape Cod Bay. The trail was called Wing’s Island, after a man named John Wing, but I like to think of it as named after birds or insects or creatures like sting rays that seem to fly underwater.
The enthusiastic staff at the museum explained a little about Wing’s trail. They said that we timed it right, because it was low tide. At high tide, the island floods and strolling is impossible. So we set out, and not six hundred feet onto the trail, we encountered the foot bridge. Now, when I write the words ‘foot bridge,’ you’re probably thinking of a structure over water. This was not ‘over’ as much as ‘through’ the water. Basically, we stepped onto two boards that sunk and squished into the marsh. It was fantastic! I really felt like a kid again getting my shoes all muddy.
We continued to hike through the high salt marsh and onto the island where we found ourselves under eastern red cedars, pitch pines, and oak trees. Everything about this place smelled so good—wet earth, trees, and salt air. I took a lot of deep breaths. In the upland forest, we found a mermaid’s purse (evidence of baby sting rays), and we saw fox prints. We made our way over the dunes to see sand pipers and plovers, and then to the mud flats, home to crabs, herring, and other microscopic creatures. Of course, the big reward was reaching the Bay to once again gaze with love at a big ol’ blue horizon. Ahh…
My parents had an expression for how they raised us. This idiom was most likely the reason they let us roam the woods without adult supervision. They would say something like, “We’ve given you roots and wings. You have a home, and you can take off from it too.”
I take my roots with me wherever I go, happy to be part of my family. And whenever I have the strength to wander, I feel grateful.
