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| Photo Credit: Bonnie Johnson |
When I meet Greg in the forest, he is always using his walking sticks.
When I met Rebecca’s doctor and his wife while they are walking up Pkols, they were using walking sticks.
I can’t find mine right now.
I have been searching for days, so I decided to use a cane in each hand on the trail – better two canes than a fall.
The most dangerous place on the Grandfather’s Trail may be its entrance off Pilling’s road, just at the railroad crossing.
When I shared that fact with Glen he said to tell Greg Bates and that he will probably build steps there.
Not necessary.
I am just saying that I pay particular attention to my steps at that spot, since as I have started watching the ground more, I notice that wet clay on a slope is a sure sign that slipping could happen.
Another tricky slippage as well would a little clump of small wet pine cones.
I know the physiotherapists say to walk with eyes focused out about ten metres ahead and I know that will work when looking for a bear.
But the protruding, interlacing roots of the Douglas fir tree are always at my feet. The more I am on the lookout for them, the more wonderous their pattern becomes on the forest floor.
Once invisible to me, now I see them at every step, some as thick as my wrist, and some as small as an arthritic knuckle.
Still, they work in symphony, their shapes producing static movement on the forest floor, both with their interlocking systems, and the heave and sway as they in the earth.
I keep my eye on them.
Eyes down on the forest floor.
They are probably more dangerous than an animal, since it only takes a slip on them, or a stub, or the roll of heel to bring me down.
Trying to keep that event in the far future I walk forward slowly, though fast enough to lose Bonnie in the forest.
She stays behind me to photograph roots, or mushrooms, or the train passing by.
When she tries to catch up, it is not that I have gone so far, just that I am on the downside of a slope while she is on the upside.
She phones.
I stop to answer.
She catches up.
We turn around – 1 ½ hours of walking – new trails.
Old trails.
Walking them in a new way.
The most dangerous place on the Grandfather’s Trail may be its entrance off Pilling’s road, just at the railroad crossing.
 |
| ... this must be four feet high ... |
Not necessary.
I am just saying that I pay particular attention to my steps at that spot, since as I have started watching the ground more, I notice that wet clay on a slope is a sure sign that slipping could happen.
Another tricky slippage as well would a little clump of small wet pine cones.
I know the physiotherapists say to walk with eyes focused out about ten metres ahead and I know that will work when looking for a bear.
 |
| Looking at Roots ... the root of an overturned tree ... |
Once invisible to me, now I see them at every step, some as thick as my wrist, and some as small as an arthritic knuckle.
Still, they work in symphony, their shapes producing static movement on the forest floor, both with their interlocking systems, and the heave and sway as they in the earth.
I keep my eye on them.
 |
| Bonnie has laid her shoe lace alongside the mushroom so that Rebecca can see exactly how small these fungi are. |
Eyes down on the forest floor.
They are probably more dangerous than an animal, since it only takes a slip on them, or a stub, or the roll of heel to bring me down.
Trying to keep that event in the far future I walk forward slowly, though fast enough to lose Bonnie in the forest.
She stays behind me to photograph roots, or mushrooms, or the train passing by.
When she tries to catch up, it is not that I have gone so far, just that I am on the downside of a slope while she is on the upside.
 |
| ... a small animal lives in this hole ... |
She phones.
I stop to answer.
She catches up.
We turn around – 1 ½ hours of walking – new trails.
Old trails.
Walking them in a new way.
Arta
next best thing to being there!
ReplyDeleteThe walk is a good part of the day. I started out to take another stroll by myself today -- my phone and my nitro on my person. Then I stopped to sweep the leaves off of the porch, which led to moving two cinder blocks back to Miranda's yard. David Wood had used them to steady his ladder when he was cleaning my eaves on this e east side of my house. That led to taking leaves and trash from the zip line area, to the place where I pile them so that they can return to the earth in a compost way. Before I knew it I had out my trowel ad rake to do a last minute fall weeding among the hostas and the cone flowers. I am glad that my doctor told me that it is not 10,000 steps that matter -- just that a person keeps active. My fitbit counted 5,000 steps, but I think it missed some.
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