Three Six Five
I’ve purchased a new book: Three Six Five; prompts, acts, divinations, by Lucy Ives. As I mentioned in my last entry, I’m wondering, “What’s next for me?” And by what’s next, I mean, what can I cook up for myself that is meaningful for this last swath of time I have in this body? One of the prompts in the book is titled: neighbor, no. 6.
“Ask a stranger, acquaintance, neighbor, or other community member for a topic for a piece of writing. Commit to writing about whatever they suggest in advance of the request.”
I asked my friend Merideth Kaye Clark, and her reply was, “Ooooh, the magic of taking long walks!”
Thirteen
I’m intrigued by walking, as you may know from my last post. My most recent long walk was from Gresham to The Everett House in Southeast Portland, around thirteen miles. So, what is the magic of taking long walks?
It’s a numbers game
Magic #1: Walking is an activity that has a physical destination. You start, you finish — God willing, as my grandma would add. It feels good!
Magic #2: Walking is an activity that offers many surprises. We happened upon a sweet shop named Larkspur on Holgate. Oh my, a treasure trove of local makers’ work and a keeper of horticulture therapy. Do visit IRL!
Magic #3: Walking is an activity that is a terrific conversation starter. “I walked here today from (insert starting place here),” always inspires wonder and a chat.
Magic #4: Walking is an activity that gives you a window of time to let your mind wander. Warning: Do not look at your phone while you walk. Sidewalks can be uneven!
Magic #5: Walking is an activity that will sideline your phone.
One hundred three
As we walked on the Springwater Trail from Gresham, my mind meandered into the past. I wondered about the time when folks walked everywhere. After all, it’s the most ancient mode of transportation. We left the Springwater Trail at around 103rd and took Foster to Oliver’s, a terrific breakfast spot and by the time we arrived we were hungry.
Did I mention my husband Gary came with me on this trek? The breakfast burrito at Oliver’s is tops and they have the BEST salsa. I digress.
We headed back out and I started thinking about Southeast Foster Road. I wondered when it was paved. It turns out that it was once a Native American Footpath. A footpath. I love that word, footpath. It feels onomatopoetic to me — tangible and ancient. Traveling by foot. My feet carry me when I walk. No middle-woman. My flesh, in my shoe, presses into the ground on which humans hundreds of years ago walked. My body is my engine. I carry with me the DNA of all my ancestors as I walk. That footpath eventually became a path for farmers to bring their goods into the city from Lents and beyond. I learned on Vintage Portland that there was once a trolley in that area. The tracks were paved over sometime in the 1930’s when Southeast Foster became the widest street and sidewalk around, modeled after the boulevards of Paris.
My days are numbered
There’s the magic. My days are numbered, as are my steps. How will I spend them? As I walk I ponder the past, present and future. There’s magic there, for me, in my long walks. They contain the promised certainty of a destination dotted with delightful surprises along the way.