Walking in Three Parts | Part One

First Person Singular. A Walk in Nature.

It is a moral failure to miss the profound beauty of the world.

- The Vaster Wilds, Lauren Groff

The world outside is still damp and cold and dark and I’d rather stay a while, under my warm and cozy blanket inside the camper. My dog however is wide awake and whining to get the day started. Let’s go adventuring! or maybe just: Nature is calling; you coming?

The campground is quiet, except for the raindrops gently dripping on the roof and the birds singing their morning song. My son, who had crept into our small bed in the middle of the night, stirs next to me and I slowly make my way out from under the blanket, careful not to wake up anyone else. I put on my warm socks, my rain boots, grab my coat and my hat, a leash, and we sneak out.

Just a short walk, I say to myself, just long enough for my dog to do his business and then we can hopefully go back to sleep for a while.

Before I know it, I’ve left the loop with its tents and campers and pickups, and I’m walking on a small trail, through woods, pines I learned, not the tall and straight ones I’m used to, but the knotted, twisted kind used to living in the harsh, salty climate along the Pacific Ocean.

One step at a time, I walk.

It’s quiet. No, not quiet; just no human noises. I hear the waves in the distance; birds chirping, the leaves rustling in the wind.

Would I be here, walking, if not for my dog? And I don’t just mean because he’s the one who woke me up this morning. I feel safe in his presence. Not from bears, maybe, but this is the one time I’m grateful he doesn’t like strangers and will surely bark at any human predator trying to come too close.

My path winds through yellow flowered bushes and short pine trees before I see the vast dunes stretched out in front of me.

Flowers cover the ground in different shades of yellow. Some a rich, warm mustard yellow, all clustered together; others individual and bright like lemons; some low to the ground, small, with specks of orange and red, like the embers of our campfire at night, creating a beautiful interplay with their purple companions; and others standing tall, a greenish, almost neon yellow, reminding me of lemon-lime sodas; light against the sky.

A small bunny rushes back into the bush as we approach, her breakfast interrupted. The clouds slowly shift and the sun peeks out from behind the clouds as the fog lifts.

There’s no podcast here to keep me company, no cell reception to be able to call a loved one across the ocean where the end of a day is approaching, no kids zooming back and forth on their bikes.

Just me and my dog and nature. Walking.

Not thinking my most inspiring thoughts;

Not planning out the day;

Not haunted by the many to dos waiting for me when I get home.

It’s precious, this time; my mind isn’t usually so quiet.

Later that day, I’ll walk the same path and my thoughts will be something like this:

Flowers,

Yellow flowers,

Lemon,

Lemon Lime Soda,

🎶 A million miles away, your signal in the distance…A million miles away, your signal in the distance…A million miles away, your signal in the distance… 🎶

🎶 …and watch me burn; …and watch me burn;…and watch me burn;…and watch me burn; 🎶

Orange,

Coldplay;

🎶 …It’s a cold day in the sun… 🎶

Garden State;

🎶 Bones, sinking like stones; all that we fought for; Homes, places we’ve grown; all of us are done for. And we live in a beautiful world; Yeah we do, yeah we do. We live in a beautiful world. 🎶

Iron and Wine;

Postal Service;

🎶…and it’s a winding road I’ve been walking for a long time…🎶

Crazy/Beautiful

Regina Spektor, Feist, Carla Bruni.

🎶 …to Such Great Heights…. 🎶

Flightless Bird

Remember to figure out Kylo’s stay.

Twilight. What is Kristen Stewart up to?Note to self: remember to watch that rock star movie she’s in.

American Eagle. 4th of July

I should bring this shirt to Germany.

Aliens

No official bird.

(etc.)

…All while humming a mix of tunes in my head and narrating these thought patterns to myself, creating constellations in my mind with all of these fragments. Hello, ADHD.

Right now though, it’s quiet up there; maybe I’m not quite awake yet; it feels nice.

Before I know it, I’ve been gone for an hour or two and the smell of coffee and campfire draws me back to our home for the weekend. Bacon is sizzling, my kids are riding their bikes in loops around the campground, awake and playful, full of energy and not yet bored and bickering.

I’m back in the real world, my stomach growling, the dark coffee warming me up from the inside.

How can I take this home? I ask. If only I could walk like this every morning.

And part of me knows I could, if only I made arrangements and then stuck to my plan.

And I also know it wouldn’t be the same. And I also know I won’t make those arrangements or stick to my plan. At least not in this season of my life. And that’s okay.

I get to appreciate the present moment, as cheesy as that sounds;

Letting the trails lead me, exploring, wandering, wanting to bottle it all up and bring it home, knowing I won’t; and maybe that’s actually the beauty of it — taking the moment as it comes, feeling surprised and in awe at nature over and over again, like a goldfish.

Mary Oliver, of course, says it much better than me:

How I Go Into the Woods by Mary Oliver

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone,
with not a single friend,
for they are all smilers and talkers
and therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree.
I have my ways of praying,
as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone
I can become invisible.
I can sit on the top of a dune
as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned.
I can hear the almost unbearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have every gone to the woods with me,
I must love you very much.

---

Heads up, dear reader: I’m doing things a little differently this week - expect parts two and three in your inbox on Wednesday and Friday.

Cheers!
Hanna