Along the path

There is a short time between the end of summer and the beginning of fall when the best of both seasons combines to create a perfect day. If you believed in heaven, it’s the kind of day that would test your faith because nothing could be more beautiful than this patch of earth where you stand. The air is clear and warm with just enough of a breeze to remind you that change is on the way. The hot, muggy days of summer are behind you and the chill of deep fall has yet to come. A few early leaves have dropped with only a hint of color, but the trees are still thick with green. It is a perfect day for a walk.

I choose a route along the path that bisects our little town. The entrance is only a few blocks from where I parked my car, but it is just far enough to make me happy to see the first bench. Sitting, I try to remember all that I had learned about mindfulness in nature, breathing slowly and evenly, focusing on my surroundings and just letting my thoughts come and go.

A man wearing a baseball cap and holding a cell phone walks a few steps ahead of his little dog. From time to time, he stops, turns to face the dog and looks down again at his phone. The dog stops and looks up at the man, perhaps expecting a treat. Maybe he thinks the phone is his treat and that any second now the man will bend down and hand it over. No luck for Fido. The man turns back toward his destination, and the pair of them continue this routine for how long, I couldn’t say. Tired of watching, I move on.

There are few simple pleasures that can rival the joy or provide the health benefits of walking, but as we get older, we have to make adjustments. These days a long walk for me requires the use of a trekking pole, two trekking poles if I’m alone, just one with a friend. Stabbing the foot of the friend walking beside you would be the very last thing you’d want to do. This is a two pole day, and the crushed gravel path at my feet is a highway to Eden with the overhanging branches providing shade and dappling the way ahead. The path runs parallel to a brook, shallow now after a record-breaking summer draught. This was the route of the Cub Scout bike safety ride that I took with my son, now a father himself. The brook was deep and swift that day, and we spotted a muskrat knifing through the water.

Just relax, breathe deeply as you walk and let your thoughts come and go.

I must commend our town fathers in the placement of benches along the path. Although the path is well used by walkers of all ages, the benches are positioned in exactly the right places for seniors who need to rest along the way. Another bench, another stop.

You see benches like this in parks and on trails everywhere, and everywhere they serve the dual purpose of resting places and memorials. Constructed of smooth unfinished wood, each bench bears a brass plaque in the center of its backrest commemorating a deceased walker. “Hobey Hummingdove (1920 – 2000). He walked this path with love.” I do the math, I can’t help it. Hobey made it to 80. Let’s see, I was born in…

Just relax, breathe deeply, let your thoughts come and go. But give that last one a little shove and move on.

As the path cuts through town, the town you know disappears. The shops, restaurants, traffic, – they are all there just the other side of this corridor of greenery, but you have to be reminded. That’s what the side streets are for, each one with a painted crosswalk and flashing lights to stop the cars so you can get safely to the other side.

People at every age and stage of life are on the path today – young mothers and fathers with babies in strollers or carriers, men and women jogging along in athletic gear, fellow seniors, and school kids walking alone or in packs. A distinguished gent walking his dog approaches and we exchange comments about the near perfect day. I stop to rest at another bench and watch as a high school girl approaches him and asks if she can pet his dog. “Of course,” he replies and tells the girl the dog’s name. Everyone is friendly on the path.

Even with the help of trekking poles and benches, I am aware of my tired back saying I should have turned around before now, but the end is in sight. Just a few yards beyond the bench where I am resting, the curb marks the end of the path. I stand and turn to head back, but those last few yards niggle my brain. Suddenly I am Amundsen and the curb is the South Pole. If I don’t get to the end, I haven’t gone at all.

Just breathe slowly and deeply and let your thoughts come and go. Then go touch the curb and head home.