Keep Going

Was walking in a park savoring a beautiful weekday afternoon. Afternoons are a world I'm still exploring, closed to me for the 30 years I spent in offices hiding two or three jars of spices such as peppercorns or cinnamon in the desk drawer so when most depressed I could take whiffs of a natural, beautiful smell. In my basement office, also a supply closet, I hung a calendar of spectacular natural scenes, and prayed that someday, someday. . . I stayed there because I couldn't risk losing the health insurance. I'm much better off now.

At the park were a few other untethered people, older men, and a woman in her twenties sitting in her truck fiercely texting, and I thought, "Oh God, I remember that." I trudged into the wet sand beneath the highway bridge, to the river's edge and its beer-colored water, because every walk needs novelty; or else, under COVID-19 awareness, each day feels too much the same. We are all very tired, maybe dazed. Most of us are coping as best we can. We miss our communal lives and casual contact. It hurts to give that up for so very long, and some people won't, and they get sick and make others sick. I mean, the virus is reaching an astounding new peak in mid-America.

So it's more important than ever to strictly observe the health guidelines. I follow them. I had just visited an open-air fruit and vegetable market, purchasing bell peppers, cauliflower, scallions and fresh ginger for a first try at an exotic recipe, when this sign reminded me to choose to stay in my lane no matter how careworn and discouraged, because this too shall pass.

Territory

It's a young turtle if its shell is vividly and clearly painted and shines, and surely a young one if it's crossing a road, likely in search of a place claim-able as territory. With great self-possession -- animals seem to have more confidence as humans have less -- it held its pose as I sidled near and snapped the camera. In the background is my own home, my own protective shell. So this is a picture of what's important to us both.

On this walk just a few minutes before, yards down the road, I met a pencil-slender baby copperhead snake lounging on the gravel in the exact spot copperheads in summer quite often lounge on the gravel. Recalling well the first time I met a copperhead -- full-sized -- at that spot and nearly stepped on it, on every walk year-round I glance down at that point on the road, and step lightly. Perhaps I bring them into being by imagining them there. Happy summer solstice.

How to Be Happy Despite an Extended Winter

March with snow on the ground, 17 degrees, wearing fleece robe over fleece clothing in the house, clutching cups of hot drinks, thinking of deceased folks etc. = misery, unless you must, no buts about it, take the car in for the fuel-pump recall, plus regular oil change and tire rotation -- "How long will this take?" "Hour and a  half, two hours" -- and decide that today the wait will be fun.

Realize via Google Maps that a liquor superstore known for wines is .3 miles from the car dealer, and toddle there on icy sidewalks and across strip-mall parking lots. Spend 45 minutes in two aisles each of a hundred linear feet of cabernets and red blends, like a library, organized by price, telling self "You can have only one," and choosing a staff-recommended Languedoc. On the way back, decide that a person who loved themselves would buy themselves lunch. At a hole-in-the-wall BBQ I have a fine pulled pork sandwich with pink applesauce and a Pepsi.

Upon return, the car service is finished. Realize the car now picks up like a swan when  in "eco" mode -- they fixed it! Drive my personal rocket ship to another store where before the holidays I bought a startlingly good random red wine, hoping they might have one bottle left, and miraculously they have restocked it and I buy 3 bottles. Cheerfully drive home, not hungry, with payload of wine thinking of happy and friendly occasions. The sun is out and it doesn't feel cold or windy now.

Hit You Like a Deer

Januaries test our tolerance and endurance. Mine and others'. One day while driving on Doc Sargent Road I saw a woman taking a vigorous walk along the (shoulder-less) road as I have done for 16 years, and my first reaction on seeing her was not "go girl" but irritation at having to be careful driving past -- kind of like you feel when a bicyclist is pedaling uphill on a two-lane road and the cars that accumulate behind him must crawl after him. I wondered, is that what drivers feel when they see me out walking?

I recall some years ago seeing a lone woman taking an exercise walk along Highway O. (Athletic shoes gave away her purpose.) She was well bundled up, but I realized with horror that out in the open without any woods to back her she looked like a target. A target. Maybe it's not true, but some years ago a driver deliberately hit a female walker, then dragged her into the woods, raped her, and left her for dead. He returned some hours later and she's still alive so he kills her. Stephen King survived being hit by a drunk as he walked along a rural road in Maine.

Reasons I shouldn't walk on roadsides anymore: denser population and therefore more cars; I'm older and maybe a little slower and more of an annoyance and really really don't want to risk being hit; I don't want to look like a target; people text while driving even if they shouldn't; people take more medication legal and not; they're less patient; and there are alternatives.

So I became devious, and one day followed a new path on property that was none of my business but I figured no one would see me, to a section of LaBarque Creek new to me. The cliffs pictured are about 20 feet high. I'd have liked to get closer to dramatize their scale, but couldn't risk the icy rocks. Maybe I'll try again when the temperature's above the single digits and I have boots and poles. Meanwhile I walk in circles and back and forth on my own property, or get in the car and drive a mile down to public space.

Memory Lane

One day I walked a little farther and turned onto a one-lane road I hadn't walked before although I've lived in the area 12 years, and was steamrolled by almost prehistoric memories: It looks like Ashland County, WI as it was more than 50 years ago, the place where my love for the country began, on trips to my uncle's dairy farm where I slept in a room that got very cold in the morning. Stony fields no good for crops, only cows and hay; the electrical poles, mere logs set upright into the ground, holding up a single wire to perfection; second-growth timber, and chicory weeds, all very quiet, and every half-mile a fire hydrant at the roadside, cast-iron thickly painted red; here, with lettering: CHATTA TENN 1963.

Simply hadn't seen the turnoff to this road, a memory lane, or maybe it magically appeared, a new road just when I needed it, and I walked thinking how we always visited my uncle in August, and August in northern WI is like mid-September here: breezes tepid and then cold, dealt out edgewise like playing cards; dry grass; woodpiles; understated sunlight. An excellent fitness walk because of its hills, rising 283 feet total from the starting point to its highest. Three miles into it I hadn't reached the end, and turned around, but next time I'll walk farther and see what's at the end of Memory Lane.

She's an Easy Target

Driving on the highway I saw a woman my age walking alone on the road shoulder, an unusual sight. She was hiking. Before thinking anything else I thought, "There's an easy target."

Then I thought: That's what I look like.

I go on solo hikes all the time, and take daily walks on back roads and trails mostly, sometimes crossing highways. City walks were filled with fears about being jumped or followed or harassed. That's not special; that was life as an urban female. In a better part of the city we women wore sweatsuits and sneakers while on walks to indicate that we were exercising and not out on the streets to make money. I gladly moved to the country where walks were carefree and I could forget I was female.

But I had no idea until now what I looked like to others. I tried to think of the last female solo hiker I met on a trail. There are almost none. That's because women are afraid. They're told they should be. There are those horror stories broadcast on TV into our minds. Once when I was fishing in a remote area three hunters emerged from the woods with their firearms and I thought, they're probably harmless--but what if they're not? So now, so as not to be defenseless, I'm armed; now very consistently armed. I'm aware that this isn't a perfect solution. You might tell me to get a man or a pit bull or at least another woman companion. Why? I have the right to walk and hike free of fear. I sure do.

Three Cheers for the Blue

Hiking, tramping along, winded, hoping to find the trail's end soon, hating to stop and rest because only old folks need to stop and rest -- been hiking 40-some years now --and anyway I'm getting dehydrated and need to drink water ASAP (am lazy sometimes about lugging along all the water I might need) and so I asked myself,"What would John Muir do?" Dehydration disorients me, so I looked down at my feet to make sure they were moving. Right then I glimpsed something crisp and refreshingly blue in the earth right in front of me, and saw that a baby had been born. Looked hard to try to identify the bird, but many birds lay blue eggs. Because the egg is spotted, I count robins out, and because of the location in deep woods I count bluebirds out; both robins and bluebirds are field-loving birds. Possibly some kind of sparrow. I wished it a happy birthday.

Forgive Our Trespass

Kept seeing glimmers between the trees below a road I walk for exercise year-round. Figured it was an illusion. Checking it out would mean trespassing. About a year ago I realized it was a real pond. Today I finally trespassed. Didn't plan it. Nobody was around. I thought, do it now, in spring, before the briars make it impossible. You're wearing dull colors; no one will see. So, down a ravine. The geography is much as it is on my own property. Found a partial path but it was muddy, with only deer tracks. No warning signs anywhere. Wondered if an owner might see and shoot me; I had no phone, weapon, or ID. Found a stream, and upstream a small man-made pond with a solar-powered pond-water pump, and a rowboat, and a picnic table. Proof that the glittering pond belongs to somebody. I thought, I'd better get out of here.

A sure way to get out of somewhere is to walk downstream. Found three small pretty waterfalls along the way. I felt rewarded. I imagined the excuses I would make if caught, although a woman alone in the woods is not usually looking for trouble; she's looking for transcendence. Those seeking beauty, and only seeking beauty, I thought, have God's protection. I hope.

• I'm lost. (False.) Show me the way out, please, and I'll go. (True; all the following excuses are true.)
• I am sorry, won't do it again, didn't mean any harm.
  
• I didn't see any warning signs.
• If I'd known you owned the land I would have asked permission.
  
• I live around here. You're welcome to come see my property sometime.
  
• I'm a member of a Missouri Stream Team (was wearing the jacket with the Stream Team patch).

Finally saw a paved road ahead and climbed up onto it. Highway F, not far from my place. Glad I done it although it was wrong.

Monitoring "my" land is part of my tenant's agreement. It's also got "No Trespassing" signs, which I maintain. But if I saw an unarmed stranger, on foot, without a dog (free-running dogs here endanger themselves, drivers, animals, and residents) I would put myself in his or her place, knowing how it was probably beauty that led them into temptation, and say, keeping a polite distance, Nice property, isn't it, and kindly point out the signs and say there's public land nearby.