M.C. is my very creative sister. I will never forget the time we found out she painted a mural on the walls of her bedroom, and our parents were not angry- the mural was so beautiful! (that's the way I remember it anyway)
Walking
Currently, I work four days per week as a concierge/receptionist at an acupuncture clinic. I am otherwise kept busy by supporting my ability “to go on” mentally and physically.
For the mental part I attend Buddhist classes and meditations regularly- this helps keep me calm and non-reactive to the never ending “messinesses” of life. At least, that is the goal. I also try to keep the brain active by trying to write about day to day events. Recently, I took a creative nonfiction writing class. I like the way words that have not been used by me for decades will come to the rescue when I’m trying to relate a story or thought.
For the physical I rely on the support of an acupuncturist, naturopath doctor, occasional massage therapist, (that helps keep my neck from cracking all the time.) As I told the N.D. recently, I don’t like to “work out”- though I know I should.
I like to walk. It’s free and freeing. Walking presses the reset button in my body. Breathing hard and warm from exertion, the body thanks me with good feeling. I also get to process life and get outside and out of myself. I get to breathe fresh air.
Locally, for the quick walks, we have the level trolley trail close by. For more of a work out, a walk down the hill to the Willamette River and then back up is the ticket. A pretty walk can be had by walking to Elk Rock Island. If the Willamette River level is down you can walk to the island and up and around. It is a sweet walk with beautiful scenery and wildlife. In the spring you get trilliums. Most recently a neighbor told of a beautiful walk to town. First you follow River Road, walk through Island Station (a quaint neighborhood overlooking Elk Rock Island from the river shore) onto a park path by the river leading to one of the traffic light intersections in Milwaukie, OR. What I loved about this walk was the close relationship that the walker has with the sky and water: recently, soft tones of late fall/early winter and low clouds blended in an airy watery fashion quite marvelous to be a part of. This can also be a purposeful walk for me; I can walk this way to the library or coffee shop with my little laptop in a backpack and use wifi at either place.
Back in 1999 I lived in Stehekin, WA. The only thing that made Stehekin a town was a dock and post office and a little cafe. The only way to get to Stehekin was by boat, float plane or walking. This tiny place is stapled to the end of 55 mile long Lake Chelan. While I lived there I walked a lot. Here is my very first ever writing (let alone writing about walking.) :
“Had to move. Even out those joints and muscles much used in the past few days. Cleaning and hauling, hauling and cleaning, up and down stairs. Not used to the physical labor. Easy work, just physical.
Loaded up my pack with a thermos of coffee, apple, and water. Put my boots on and hit the trail.
A bit of wind, lots of sun. I stepped past clumps of lupine, yarrow, Indian Paint Brush. The air is dry, smitten with that dusty pine scent. The lake had the hue that can only be achieved by infusing snow melt with glacier water. Aquamarine, quick silver, slate, jade, turquoise, royal blue, purple. A mélange.
Easy walk. Mostly level.
As I walk an unseen army of insects makes a scratchy click, click, click. Everywhere. I’m surrounded. The sound makes me itchy.
Lizards dry whisper out from under my feet. At least three kinds of butterflies float over my path- painted ladies, pale white swallowtail, and the kind with soft blue wings.
Coming round a bend close to Four Mile Creek I’m greeted by gunfire. Many shots. I stop, ready to hold up the white flag- if only I had one. Next to an old stone fence curving around the hill I spy on two older gents- one with a very large handgun. They see me and start walking down the hill.
We chat. One fellow said he knew there were hikers around and felt he was shooting in a safe direction. Said he hadn’t shot the gun in forty years. Said it was a ZZ…?
After my visit with the shooters, I continued walking to the creek. It was swollen…and loud. I was greeted by some bobbing heads of wild tiger lilies.
My return trip was good. Quiet. I like the smell, the dirt, the rocks…
Eight miles there and back.
Got home.
Took a long nap.
By the time evening came on, the wind had really started to roar down the valley. We lost electricity. My roommate and I went to the local café and had a wedge of mixed berry pie with a cumulus cloud of vanilla ice cream for dinner.”
I guess if I were to write about that walk nowadays, I’d mention one spot on the trail that has its own little ecosystem. You can look at the northern side of a tall rock wall and see moss with a veil of water that trickles through it. Wait. Look. A tiny, wild orchid!
About 12 years later, I’m still walking. The best walk, in my opinion, is when you can just step out of your front door. I’m so fortunate to have good places to walk close by. Our local trolley trail (soon to be connected with Portland’s Spring Water Corridor) reminds me of the lanes in England. Portland is a really beautiful and well planned city with lots of parks and trees and places to walk.
One thing that England has over us is this: all landowners must provide walkers access to their property anytime, anywhere. So you see quaint little steps going over fences everywhere.
It is, at least in the Lake District, the law.
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