Walking Home

Reader Contribution by Bethann Weick
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The short, dark says of winter make our walk home more siginificant.  Arriving home from work or other engagement is not accomplished as quickly as during the summer months.  The class VI road on which we live is not maintained, and while we can maneuver a truck down to our property line when the ground is bare, snow cover of course negates such ease.  So we park by the cemetery for which our road is named, then snap on skis or buckle on snowshoes, and head for home.  From the cemetery it’s a third of a mile to our cabin.

And this time of year, the walk often happens in the dark.  Sometimes we walk by headlamp, sometimes by memory, sometimes by moonlight.  The walk offers wonderful moments of transition between the demands of the outside world and Home.  I say walk – you understand that I’m the snowshoer of the two of us.  Regardless of our mode of movement, Ryan and I both agree.  The walk has a certain beauty to it, even in the dark.  Sometimes it’s cold, sometimes it’s frustrating when there’s lots to carry, sometimes it’s demanding when our tiredness is great.  But it ensures a few minutes of reflection, a time for our minds to slow down and release the concerns of the day.  It is both calming and awakening, and allows us to recognize our own desire to be home.  Despite cold, wind, snow, and storms, there is nothing harsh about these minutes on foot.  If anything it is intensely personal.  Thoughts crystallize, concerns fade, and our mental pace moderates.  The weather, the sky, the stars, the temperature, the creak of the trees and the lean of their boughs: each of these details comprise the background for our pedestrian commute.

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