Tag Archives: walking

Scents of a September morning.

I was excited to walk to the library this morning. Only that one errand needed doing, so it wasn’t necessary to drive from place to place. I love staying home, but I also like taking walks. It’s having to get in the car and into traffic that is a bother.

So off I went, wearing my newish pack that one of my grandsons gave me last Christmas, with his wishes for fun adventures wearing it. It was just the right size for my wallet and the three books I was returning, all related to the Iliad. I’m still reading that classic, but I was done with those commentaries.

I had barely got around the corner when I ran into the first roses on my way. I was surprised — I must have been driving past them several times a week recently, but clearly with my mind elsewhere. As I was within a few inches, and not rolling past in a car, it was easy to stop and look into their faces. I sniffed all the colors along the fence, and they were delicious. These below were my favorites, because of their romantic nature:

I thought of what Elizabeth von Arnim said about this experience:

oleander

“[Walking] is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside.” 

Fifty steps further on, I caught a whiff of something sweet, and looked up to see that it was the oleander bush that towered above me. I don’t know if I’ve ever noticed the scent of oleanders — but how could that be? I have known them my whole life, and was pleased to encounter so many in Greece last year.

A few more steps, and I came upon a riot of blooming rosebushes at a busy intersection. This path was truly a highly decorated and aromatic one.

And then onward under the canopy of tall redwood trees, in the sunshiny and mildly warm air, and my heart was light. I soon reached the library — only to find it closed. A tall fence closed off the entrance, and a sign told about renovation, and that it would open again in the spring. In the meantime, we could use a temporary facility a few blocks farther away. What to do? Would my feet complain if I added this extra distance to their task? I decided that I didn’t want to extend my walk further, and turned back toward home, a little disappointed. I would have to drive to return my books after all. But worse things could happen.

Walking home the other direction I noticed different sights, as I looked down into the creek that is full of willows, waving in the breeze and showing their silvery undersides. I took the little shortcut along the creek, passing by this spot where the sunlight is often filtering through the trees in such a way that it makes me want to stop and sit a while, on the nice bench that has been installed there. But the bench faces into a big tree trunk, and doesn’t have a great view. So I never do.

This fennel plant was in bloom and smelling like licorice candy.

Next time I think I’ll plan to walk all the way to the temporary library. It’s likely that by then the roses will be gone, but I’m sure there will be some other good things on my path. And I won’t be going too fast to see them.

Real flowers and imaginary creatures.

 

It’s the season in California when one is likely to encounter wildfire smoke blowing in from somewhere, hopefully distant. It happened to us this week when I was up at my daughter “Pippin’s” in the way north part of the state, but it wasn’t thick enough to keep us indoors, or prevent us from going on a wildflower walk.

Tolkien

Are you familiar with the custom of the traditional walking tours that C.S. Lewis and some of his friends would take through the English countryside, about a hundred years ago in their case? The first book of the fictional Ransom Trilogy by Lewis opens with the protagonist on a solo walking tour; it sounds like a wonderful kind of recreation. I am reading a book by Humphrey Carpenter titled The Inklings, about some members of this group, such as J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, Hugo Dyson, Owen Barfield and others. Lewis’s brother Warren (“Warnie”) was one of them, too.

Here is an excerpt about how it was on these long walks:

Tolkien ought, on the face of it, to have been an ideal companion for Lewis and Barfield on their walking tours, but when he did accompany them, he found that twenty miles or so a day carrying a heavy pack was more than he liked….  Tolkien’s own idea of a walk in the countryside involved frequent stops to examine plants or insects, and this irritated Lewis.  When Tolkien spent some time at Malvern on holiday with the Lewis brothers in 1947, Warnie remarked, “His one fault turned out be that he wouldn’t trot at our pace in harness. He will keep going all day on a walk, but to him, with his botanical and etymological interests, a walk, no matter what its length, is what we would call an extended stroll, while he calls us ‘ruthless walkers.’”

I had made a point of copying that section to read to Pippin and her family this week. The relative ruthlessness of our walking styles is a continual factor to be dealt with when we are on a walk or a hike. Not just their family, but all of my children and extended family. Pippin was remembering as an example our stay in Greece last summer, when three of our group were on the ruthless side of the scale, while Pippin and I as usual lagged behind, looking at one more flower or leaf.

On this recent walk, however, it was just Us Girls. No one was in a hurry, but only two of us were paying much attention to the flora and fauna. Ivy was reading aloud to me from the book at right, Pembrick’s Creaturepedia, and trying not to stumble on the path that wound uphill through a meadow with mossy streams flowing alongside.

She’s been telling me for years about her favorite series of books, The Wingfeather Saga or Tales, by Andrew Peterson. This little encyclopedia of creatures illustrated by Peterson goes along with those stories, and the word descriptions and illustrations are all clever, well written and drawn, and often very amusing. Online I found one page from the book to show you as an example, a more poignant entry that Ivy didn’t read to us.

The narrator tells a story from his youth: While on a campout with a friend, he had foolishly eaten all the available food too soon, and was quite famished. Just then, “I spotted a bright yellow sweeft, aperched on the branch of an apple tree, and though hardly believing myself able to hit such a tiny target [with his slingshot], I knocked it from the tree with a single blow. It landed in a swump of sweefty feathers, dead. I held it in my hands and wept for shame. My father commanded me to honor the bird’s death by eating it, and thus I did….”

In each Creaturepedia entry is a description of how the animal tastes. For the sweeft, it is “Like sorrow.”

We strollers were neither hungry nor hunting that day; Pippin and I were admiring what wildflowers had not faded already, and I saw several that were new to me, including two types of yellow monkeyflowers. (Monkeyflower makes me think of the Creaturepedia again, though there is no animal in there that is named anything like monkey. I found a listing for gunkees, though…)

Though the larger landscape was blurry with smoke, we gave our attention elsewhere, to Ivy’s introduction to fantastical beasts, and making friends with the bright flowers at our feet.

Gleanings from an evening walk.

When Ivy and Jamie were here they got me back into the habit of an evening walk. Depending on how much time we had before dark, or how much energy remained for Grandma after the day’s events, we might just go to the bridge over the creek and back, ten minutes. Or we might do a half hour’s walk, farther on from there.

Wedged between twigs and the trunk of the live oak above, Ivy found a smooth and flattish oval rock. She brought it home and painted a frog on it, and placed it back where she’d found it. A day later it had been taken, so she next wrote a friendly note to the taker and managed to place it between the twigs. The note had been moved when I looked tonight, and now it’s likely to get blown down. She had leaned out precariously over the bridge to place her items in the first place, where I can’t reach, so I’m of no use in pursuing further written communications with other bridge-walkers.

Since the children went home, I’ve walked every evening by myself. Today dusk was early, because of it being a mostly cloudy day. No frogs were croaking in the creek, and few birds were to be heard. A towhee, the distant cawing of a crow, and few finches by the side of the path.

We’re coming into the season when the wild Himalayan blackberries get ripe, and they grow all along the creek and the path. Actually most of them never ripen, but this evening I found a few sweet and juicy ones  hiding in the back of a patch. One of them is in the photo, just before I plucked it. Dessert!

Along my street the neighbor’s bank of star jasmine is in full bloom, and it is exuding its heavy sweetness — too much for some people, and not a plant you want to have by your front door, because of the bees that will scare your guests. But it’s nice to catch a whiff when walking by.

Star Jasmine

And I passed the home of Deanna, whose door I bravely knocked on a couple of years ago to introduce myself and ask if I might have some of her dozens of summer squashes growing and becoming overgrown right by the sidewalk. She gladly gave me a few (already overgrown ones), but I never asked again. Last week I saw her outside when we were walking by, and she told me to come and pick from the current crop anytime. So tonight I did. I just twisted this little crookneck until it broke off.

These bike paths in my town that follow the course of the creeks typically back up to fenced back yards of neighborhoods on the other side. Growing through those fences are a great variety of not-so-wild plants: roses, trumpet vines, honeysuckle; for years branches of a fig tree hung over the path, from which I picked several figs, before it evidently got pruned back. Tonight I broke off a stem of honeysuckle to stick in my buttonhole, and breathed in its sweetness all the way home.

Little shining water.

A favorite eucalyptus tree.

Yesterday my godmother called, suggesting that we go for coffee or a walk. What a nice idea! I knew I needed the walk, and didn’t need the coffee, so she came over, and we ambled along my usual path, but farther than I’ve been going lately. That gave me the oomph to go again this afternoon, on a Sunday of all days, when typically I need a nap more, and rarely get that…

It’s been a week or more since the rains, I can’t keep track, and the creek has quieted down to a silver ribbon. Actually I walk along two different creeks, and cross the bridge where they merge.

The tender fennel ferns are popping out greenly.