My Neighborhood Walk

Although I have my usual walking route around Meeker Park, every week I see something different or in a way I’ve never seen it before. Last month, the sun was hitting the ridge on the west side of the valley, a rocky ridge where a few trees had taken hold among the rocks, silhouetted against the blank face of Mount Meeker (below). It was a view I had never noticed before, but I had arrived at just the day and time when the light was hitting the ridge. Another five minutes later or earlier, a different day, where the sun had moved just slightly, and I wouldn’t have noticed that view. But every day the light changes, and the landscape moves subtly from one season to the next. Or my mood is different, primed to see some things but not other things, ready to notice the clouds but not the cabins or the sky but not the ground.

Or one day a bird appears that I’ve never seen before. It’s colorful, with orange on its chest, like a robin, but smaller and speckled with striped wings. It’s practically right at my feet, on the ground pecking at something and doesn’t seem inclined to fly away when I try to take its picture. When I look it up in my bird guide, I discover it’s a rosy finch (in its winter plumage, bottom), which are somewhat common here. So why have I never noticed it before?

My weekly walk takes me from the valley bottom—with open fields, the creek, and  willow bushes—to up on the hillside, among the ponderosas and aspens, so I see the world from two directions and attitudes: that small, insignificant feeling you get looking up at the something larger—in this case, the mountains—and the opposite feeling of surveying your kingdom: the valley with the small ranch and cabins scattered along the edges, above the marshy areas where the willows grow and aspens form a border between the road and fields (top).

Along the way, I have my favorite spots, my totems to reconnect with, but also I’m curious about how the landscape has changed since I last saw it. Is the creek frozen yet? Or, in spring, are the aspens starting to leaf out?  How does Mount Meeker look with the new coat of snow? In April, I’ll look to see if the pasqueflowers that grow on the hill next to the road are starting to bloom, or if the mountain bluebirds have arrived in the field next to the ranch. If the two horses are out, I’ll pause to see if they notice me, sticking their heads up from the pasture.

There’s something to be said for knowing and loving one place well, for seeing it in every season, every mood, every change of weather. Because I know Meeker Park so well and because I love it so much, every change seems momentous.

Comments

[shoney]

"There’s something to be said for knowing and loving one place well, for seeing it in every season, every mood, every change of weather".....you express so well the richness of being/ living in the landscape. If everyone would take advantage of learning, noticing and appreciating their natural surroundings perhaps we would have a more peaceful planet. Your writing is a gift.

[sally]

I totally agree with shoney about this and the pleasure that I used to get doing the same thing you wrote so elegantly about. I lived in the woods for so many years and would spend much time doing this and always there was some treasure to be found and friends to check up on (the animals). I dream of this still today and miss these times as they are far between now. But I still have my favorite places I keep in touch with fondly. You are so lucky!