Leashed

Walk location: neighborhood
Walk time: early morning
Skies: [dark]
Temperature: 58 degrees
iPod: David McCullough's Truman
Steps: 5,500

Since it was dark when I began and ended my walk this morning, my attention was focused less on the external and more the internal of my life. For whatever reason I reflected upon the behavior of my walking companion Gizmo, a papillon mix, who has been part of our family for nearly six years now.

There are moments when I try to convince Claudia that Gizmo is as smart as a human; he is so smart, in fact, that he doesn't need to use language to express himself. He knows intuitively, so words are unnecessary. She argues that what I refer to as "intuition" is merely nature's "instinct," and that Gizmo is no more human than I am canine. While I know logically that she is right, I cannot help but think about the psychology of it all.

My thoughts this morning concerned the sense of security Gizmo derives from being leashed. Animal rights activists may argue that a leashed animal is a cruel thing, but in our dog's case it seems to provide him a healthy sense of boundaries. He has about 20 feet in any direction he can wander as we walk, so he is not restrained. His collar is comfortably adjusted for his neck size, so he not choked when he reaches the end of the leash. If there is approaching traffic, pedestrian or auto, he can be quickly reigned in for his own safety. Recently when he was attacked by a larger dog, the leash offered me the opportunity to hoist him from the ground into my arms, and although not fast enough to prevent a puncture wound, it did protect him from more intense injury.

And one of the most interesting and irritating curiosities of Gizmo on the leash is that he prefers to feel tension in the cord leading from my hand-hold to his collar. If I attempt to loosen the leash enough so he has freer reign he will walk around the back of my legs in order to sense that someone is holding him in check. Years ago I thought he was simply confused and would entangle my legs in his leash in confusion or disregard, but I have come to discover that it is by intention. He likes to feel the pressure which reminds him that someone is leading him.

As a person of Christian faith I have to ask myself to whom I am leashed. It is not a metaphor I reach for eagerly, because like most humans I resent the idea that I need to be reigned in or collared in order to be the person I need to be. I have been informed by my cultural values, which declare autonomy and independence and nearly all costs. This is a real contrast to the intentions of our country's founders, who understood genuine freedom as having boundaries and safeguards. Thomas Jefferson, democratic exemplar that he was, held that there needed to be a balance between human rights and freedoms and the role of government. Both were necessary for human happiness and fulfillment.

Philosophically I have to ask myself this question, "If I am tethered to God, then where will I find security, direction, guidance?" Is it possible to be tethered to oneself (autonomy) with any success? I don't think so. Is it possible to be tethered to a central government (totalitarianism) with any kind of human fulfillment? I don't think so. We must allow ourselves to be tethered to One more knowing than ourselves in order for us to feel secure and confident enough to explore the horizons of our lives.

Walking with God is like my walking with Gizmo. God is always in the process of making things news ... there is always energy and momentum with the Divine. If I am unleashed it means that the energy may confuse me or spin me about heedlessly and without direction. If I am tethered to God, though, it means that we are constantly in motion, constantly moving in a direction, and while moving I have the opportunity to explore confidently within the boundaries of my "tether." It is not confining, but freeing because I have just "enough leash" for what I need for my path at the moment, even though my larger "geography" continues to change.

It's strange the things you learn while walking a dog in the dark.

Indecision

Walk location: neighborhood
Walk time: early morning
Temperature: 55 degrees
Skies: partly cloudy and breezy
Steps: 8,600
iPod: David McCullough's Truman

The weather seems as indecisive today as I am. I awakened early this morning, as is my habit, and decided to sleep a little longer since it is Saturday and the house is blessedly quiet. Within forty-five minutes at my bedside was whining Gizmo, ready to walk. His sense of the day's rhythm is more profound than mine, it seems. In ten minutes we were outside, the early morning light piercing through the ebbing darkness.

I am befuddled. It is late September, and yet it feels like an August morning. With October knocking at our door it still warm enough at night to sleep with windows open, and during the day feels stuffy in the house by about 3 in the afternoon. It is a lovely fall, perhaps making up for our cool, wet, late spring.

As we walked this morning we watched various colored leaves flittering in the wind as they make their descent from branch to grass below. Beneath many hardwoods is a symmetrical quilt, a panoply of colored leaves. This has come to be my most enjoyable season of the year, with the return to schedule, regularity and the fullness of harvest all around.

A Cure For Melancholy

Walk Location: Red Jacket Trail, Mankato, MN
Time of Day: Morning
Temperature: 75 degrees
Skies: Clear and sunny
Steps: 8,500
iPod: Taylor Branch, Parting the Waters

Melancholy: a feeling of thoughtful sadness.
Melancholy: a constitutional tendency to be gloomy and depressed

These are two definitions of "melancholy." My wife would probably add a third definition: "my husband." I am by nature distracted by worries, anxious about the future, glum. Not always, of course, but after forty-four years I can admit this about myself. One of the ways I have discovered that my basic nature can be altered is a daily walk. Without fail I return after a walk feeling better about the world, my family, my life. I'm sure there is some biochemical transformation that takes place in the brain that is induced by exercise, but for me it is also the opening of my spirit to the world around me.

It is a gorgeous autumn day. The skies are perfectly blue, with not a single cloud, the breezes are warm and refreshing without being overpowering. The landscape is decorated with the assorted hues of late September. The fading greens of summer are giving way to the yellows, oranges, browns, tans and reds of this time of year. This view from the LeSueur River is exceptional.








The multilayered palette of color before us, Gizmo and I walked a distance enjoying the beauty of the morning. Along the way we spotted a caterpillar seeking a place to cocoon itself in for the winter months.

For farmers the corn is drying nicely in the fields awaiting the harvest to come in days from now.



And now with mood lifted and day brightened I move on to the more mundane tasks of my day off.

A Hurried Forty Minutes

Walk Location: neighborhood
Walk Time: early morning
Temperature: 52 degrees
Skies: dark
Steps: 3,000
iPod: "This American Life" podcast


My wife is out of town on business for a few days, so it means that I have multiple morning responsibilities. Usually my only "responsibility" is to get up and out of the house so as not to inconvenience our nine children as they spend their thirty minutes preparing to depart for school. With only two bathrooms it seems an unlikely scenario, but it actually works better than you might think. But that's another story.

I knew awakening this morning at 5:45 that I would need to decide immediately whether to initiate a brief walk or simply get ready and then observe the awakening routines of nine others. I debated the issue for five minutes, and then decided that a brief walk is better than no walk. I have been reading any number of article recently about how a walk first thing in the morning provides multiple benefits, including establishing a circadian rhythm in the body, firing up the metabolism for the day, assuring that the walker gets in the requisite amount of steps for the day (or at least a good start) before the evening, when most of us are tired from a day of work.

By 5:50 Gizmo and I were out the door. We step into the darkness. There is a chill in the humid air and it is breezy. My first inclination on days like this is to turn around and put on more than the summer shorts and t-shirt that is my typical walking apparel. But I know that within minutes I will be warm enough, maybe even too warm, so I adjust to the hairs on my arms and legs bumping and the slight shiver pass through my body.

There is a surprising amount of activity this early in the morning. Within three blocks we encounter a couple of people walking their dogs, one a large dog not on a leash, so I scoop Gizmo up and carry him for a few yards. With his large dog attack of nearly three weeks ago, Gizmo is much more skittish about larger dogs, and I'm not sure what kind of engagement he might initiate, although he has always been a non-aggressive dog.

We continue to walk on, meeting a few other walkers and joggers, watching the lights of the vehicles as they pass us by. I am enjoying today's Podcast, from National Public Radio's "This American Life." The episode I am listening to is "Settling the Score," in which the interviewer's guests are relating incidents about making peace with past events in life. I always find myself intrigued by the ordinary people interviewed on this program. They are not "big names" but their stories, like life, are always so interesting.

I look to the darkened sky and see the slightest crescent of a moon glowing in the early morning. I wish my iPhone could take a picture of its beauty, but alas, as much as I love my iPhone taking pictures in near-darkness is not one of its feats. It is still dark by the time we return home. I have barely begun to walk, so it feels like I have been cheated this morning, but it is back home to shower and dress and then to awaken the sleeping hordes of children.

A hurried forty minutes, but it's better than a somnolescent hour.

Rain-Spattered Morning

Walk location: the neighborhood
Time of walk: Morning
Skies: cloudy with light rain
Temperature: 63 degrees
Steps: 3,000

We have had so many warm days in the past few weeks, and so little precipitation, that it has not really seemed like Autumn at all. This morning, however, is a reminder that fall is here. It is warm and breezy with sprinkles under a sodden horizon. Each day more hardwoods are showing their seasonal signs, the mottled yellows, oranges and reds contrasting with the lively greens we see all summer long. With the light rain some of the leaves have begun to fall to the ground, often lying in symmetrical patterns, children released from their parental stasis, blown into the larger world to scatter.



This beautiful crimson maple leaf, blurred in the rain and in the motion of my walk-frenzied hands, is a good representation of what the morning is like. It is full of depth and richness, pregnant with possibility. The world is alive today with refreshing rains, billowing gusts of wind, spattered hues of autumnal leaves. It is the season of harvest, of fruition, of completion. Its beauty and complexity belie the winter months, not so distant now, when nature will quiet herself and a serene blanket of inactivity will ensue.

Walking With a Colleague

Walk location: Clergy colleague's neighborhood
Walk time: lunch time
Skies: hazy and warm
Temperature: 78 degrees
Steps: 8,000

I am accustomed to lunch meetings with clergy colleagues as a way to remain involved in other leaders' lives. I have listened to and shared many experiences over lunch with others over the years, but today was the first time I have had the opportunity to do so in the context of a walk. My colleague suggested a trip to the "Y," but I have an aversion to inside exercise facilities (maybe that will change when winter comes; maybe not), since what I enjoy most about my walking commitment is being outside and embracing the world. Anyway, I counter-proposed a walk, and he accepted.

We met at his church and spent the next 75 minutes engaged in spirited, pleasant conversation. We shared the joys of pastoral life, as well as some of the irritations. We chatted about denominational politics and processes, neither of which either of us have much time or interest for. It is always encouraging to spend time with someone who understands the nature of the pastoral calling and who has a passion from God to fully engage it.

As we walked and talked the time ebbed away; it didn't even seem much like exercise. By the time we were finished, several thousand steps later, I was refreshed both physically and spiritually.

This is a practice I would highly recommend to others! There is a reason, other than the historical one, that Jesus spent so much of his time walking and talking with his disciples.

Walking in Darkness

Walk location: the neighborhood
Walk time: early morning
Skies: unseen
Temperature: 58 degrees
Steps: 3,700
iPod: Speaking of Faith, "The Origins and Impact of Pentecostalism"

As a Christian, and as a pastor, I have read for years about "walking in darkness," the spiritual equivalent of trying to find one's way in a darkened, windowless room. This morning I walked in darkness, but physically. As my faithful walking companion Gizmo and I slipped into this morning's darkness, I had little hope of being out long enough to capture any photos. This time of year there is simply too much early morning dark, and the iPhone doesn't do much for pics in the dark.

Instead of being watchful for a good photo opportunity, I decided to hunker into my Podcast and consider my physical surroundings in a spiritual way. I'll have to admit, there are some apparent positives to walking in the darkness. There is the shield of anonymity. As I passed the occasional pedestrian on the sidewalk, I could not see their facial features, nor could they se mine, although we were aware of one another's presence and exchanged cursory greetings. They could not seen my unshaven face, my unwashed hair or the bag in my hand containing my pet's "litter." Walking in the darkness provides one the ability to hide.

Darkness has a certain lulling enticement, as well. The shadowed homes, the distant glow of a street light, the dewy grass, the chirp of early morning insects and birds lure one to complacency. In such a veiled existence, who needs to consider change of any type? Who will know? Who will care?

As alluring as darkness is, there are some pitfalls, too. Walking in the darkness requires a sense of misplaced trust that one's feet are on a path of some type, and it doesn't really matter which one. Because there is not enough light to discern better from worse or safe from treacherous, the walker keeps putting his foot forward uncertain of what is ahead. Because of dark's beckoning call to passivity it is a surprise, sometimes a shocking one, when sometimes interrupts that revelry.

As I walked this morning in darkness, one foot rapidly moving ahead of the other, I came upon an especially shadowed sidewalk where I did not see the objects beneath my feet. Even now I do not know what they were because it was just that dark. They were, however, big enough to cause me a slight stumble in my movement. My feet slipped, just a bit, and though I did not fall I felt the impression of something bigger than acorn and smaller than a stone beneath my shoes. It was unnerving, but not enough to keep from further walking in the dark.

One of most annoying parts of walking in darkness is having to confront bright lights. Some bright lights are sudden and immediate, like the homeowner arising and flicking a switch which then bathes the walkway in a sudden burst of power. As the darkness is instantaneously dispelled there is shock to the physical system as eyes, accustomed to the shadow, experience the impact of precision. Some bright lights, though, can be anticipated because they are far enough in the distance to recognize and prepare for. Walking the sidewalk with early morning traffic allows one to see the distant luminescent glow of headlights, and by the time the car passes you can either look away to avoid the glare or have prepared well enough not to be so surprisingly impacted.

Which is better ... walking in darkness or walking in light?

It depends, I guess, on what you want to see and whether you want to be taken aback or prepared for what is to come.

Another Advantage to Regular Walking

Walk Location: around the neighborhood
Time of Walk: Evening
Temperature: 75 degrees
Skies: dark
Steps: 2,000

Tonight's walk was another routine one, in the dark, my way lighted only by street lights and shadows in and around the neighborhood where I live. It was simply a maintenance walk to get in my needed daily steps.

It is the first day of Autumn, but it would be hard to prove based upon today's weather, with temperatures in the mid-80s, warm sunny skies and light breezes. It is balmy and humid outside, and the temptation is to turn on the central air conditioning, but I know that the night will bring blessed relief and we will awaken to a cool, refreshing morning.

Over the weekend while I was gone I received a letter from my physician analyzing my most recent blood results. As a type 2 diabetic I have my A1C tested at least every three months. In the months since my last blood draw I have been more intent upon walking and to some degree more observant of healthy eating. I have lost some weight (although I do not know how much), I feel better, and my results confirm my subjectivity. In a little more than three months my A1C has dropped a complete point (1.0) and my "bad" cholesterol was "excellent." It's enough to keep me walking for some time to come.

Turkish Delight

Walk Location: Indianapolis, IN
Time of Day: Early evening
Temperature: 80 degrees
Steps: 4,500

Claudia did a marvelous job in her keynote presentation and in her workshop today, and now the conference is over. It is always a strange feeling to attend a communal event and then be “left behind” as the “community” disperses. But at least neither of us are alone here, so we are enjoying our time together. With our large family and multiple responsibilities at home, we have too few times for just the two of us to be together, so this is a treat.

We are car-less, so we decide to walk a few blocks away to find dinner. Claudia has declared that the trip has, to this point, been all about her, so she wants me to decide where we eat. One of the cool features of my (relatively new) iPhone is an application that uses the built-in GPS to determine area destinations. All you need to do is to open “iWant” and select the icon related to your goal (for example, gas station or clothing store or drug store, and of course, restaurant), and in seconds a list is presented on the iPhone that offers options in your category.



I decided that tonight we would step out of our comfort zone and try the Café Istanbul, a Turkish restaurant. Its unlikely location is in a strip mall, but its ambiance is soothingly striking. We ate early tonight so we were the only diners in the whole café. After an appetizer of hummus (pureed chickpeas with garlic, olive oil, and lemon juice) which we enjoyed with warm, fresh pita we launched into our entrée. We both ordered the Turkish gyros, which consisted of rice pilaf, fresh stir-fried vegetables and the beef and lamb that characterizes gyro.

The meat was less spicy than I am accustomed to in a gyro, but its subtle flavoring was quite tasty. I was able to eat my entrée in its entirety (sadly that’s a typical experience) but Claudia brought back to the hotel half of hers.

The walk itself was routine. We walked the distance buffeted by heavy, rush hour Friday night traffic to our side, so our conversation was limited and a bit disjointed at times. There is little for the eyes to see, but it is always good to get in the steps.

I look forward to our return home and the opportunity to walk the trails of my community with their greenery and solitude.

A Suburban Day in Indianapolis

Walk Location: Indianapolis, IN
Time of Day: Late afternoon
Temperature: 78 degrees
Steps: 4,000

Claudia and I are in Indianapolis, where she is the keynote speaker for a state-wide adoption/foster care conference, so I have the opportunity to walk in a suburban area with plenty of traffic and busyness. We did not rent a car to drive for our short time here, so I simply walk in the areas near our hotel.

When I look ahead on my walk this is what I see.


Sidewalks, traffic and an occasional pedestrian. I am struck by a couple of things. I realize once again how little I enjoy being in suburbs in any metropolitan area. When I lived in the metro area years ago I felt that way, and I guess I still do. There is so little that is unique … but so much that is common to nearly all the suburbs I have ever walked in throughout the country … heavy traffic, small malls with the same kind of “feel” and few authentic or “historic” areas.

In this part of Indy there seem to be no parks. Our hotel is adjacent to several medical centers, so there are plenty of parking lots and sterile-looking buildings and very little that is memorable.

It is a lovely day, whether in the plain-jane suburbs or elsewhere in this part of the country, with sunny skies, a warm breeze and the feel of summer still in the air, so I will enjoy these weather delights even as I lament the prairies and forest walks of home.

A Quiet Trail

Walk Location: Minneopa State Park
Time of Walk: Morning
Temperature: 52 degrees
Skies: clear becoming sunny
Steps: 7,000

A good walk to me usually means at least one thing: an opportunity for quiet reflection unmarred by other human intrusion. It's one thing if I am personally intruded into nature, but I don't much like my experience intruded upon, so whenever I have a walk without seeing another human person I leave feeling refreshed. So much of my life is spent with humans and lived with humans that I treasure moments of quiet solitude.

This morning I began my walk a little later than usual (7 AM) although it seemed early because the sun was just breaking over the horizon (given the time of year that it is). Minneopa State Park consists of two separate locations. The first location is the one with the visitor center and the waterfalls. The other "side" is the campground, which is a mile or so away, separated by geography and highways. It was to the campground side I went this morning, parking my car in a parking area and then proceeding to the east, where I descended from the heights to the river bottoms. The bottoms is lush with greenery and shaded by the canopied hardwoods towering above. There are times when parts of this area are submerged beneath waters that flood the river, but this time of year it is barely a trickle of water and a profusion of ferns and other green bushes swaying in the slight winds that make their way to the bottom.

The advantage of an early morning autumn walk as contrasted with, say summer, is that there are no bothersome insects. In the midst of summer it is a cool respite, but protecting oneself against the marauding mosquitoes and flies is often not worth the effort. The only wildlife I saw this morning were deer careening across the non-existent stream and several rabbits bounding beneath the greenery.

After ascending the heights again I continued onward to the west, walking the area that rises above the Minnesota River. Glimpsing the steam in the early morning air and watching the sun begin its glowing orbit are calming opportunities. There is a bench for resting that overlooks the river below.

Gizmo and I ended our walk by continuing through the forested trail, emerging at the gravel road which transverses the campground side of the Park. By the time we returned to our car we had walked in sunlight for more than fifteen minutes, so we were warmed by its radiance.

A nice morning on a quiet trail.

A Benefit of the Night

Walk Location: Neighborhood
Time of Walk: Evening
Temperature: 67 degrees
Skies: partly cloudy
Steps: 7,000

In addition to my faithful walking companion, Gizmo, two of my sons, Wilson (9) and Ben (16), accompanied me on my walk. Once again today I decided to walk at night rather than morning. I still prefer my morning walks, although the beauty of tonight's full moon helped me appreciate my steps. This is one of the benefits of a night walk.

It is the "in-between" time with cool nights and warm days. Each day more leaves are turning shades of red and orange, yellow and brown, and it will not be much longer before they fall from the branches and blow in the late autumn breezes that will lead to the first snow and sleet of the year. We still have a good six weeks at least before that happens, so for now I will appreciate the beauty that is present.

Why I Walk In the Morning

Walk Location: My neighborhood
Time of Day: Evening
Skies: Cloudy (?)
Temperature: 54 degrees
Steps: 3,200
iPod: "Yoga. Meditation in Action with Seane Corn," Speaking of Faith


Today is my wife's birthday, so by the time we finished lunch out with our kids and two other families it was early afternoon, cold and rainy. It was not the kind of afternoon to walk. Sunday mornings for me are always treacherously busy, so I do not have the opportunity to walk then, as I need to save my time and energy for my pastoral work. I have become so committed to walking, however, that tonight I had to set out to get some steps. While it was only a little more than 3,000 steps tonight, it always feels good to have walked.

The photo above reminds me why I prefer to walk in the morning, rather than at night. When I walk at night there is little to see except the ever-descending veil of darkness. When I walk in the morning (even if I begin when it is dark) I get to see the whole coming to life around me. In the heat of summer night has its advantages, with the cooler temperatures and the lingering light in the western horizon, but in autumn and the weeks beyond it only gets colder and darker, and both of which rather dramatically at times.

I am content with my steps for the night but not with the other parts of my walk experience that I have come to value.

A (Nearly) Solitary Walk

Walk Location: 610th Lane (near Madison Lake, MN) eastward past Madison Lake
Temperature: 62 degrees
Walk Time: Morning
Skies: Cloudy and overcast
Steps: 12,000
iPod: Taylor Branch's Parting of the Waters: America in the King Years(1954-1963)

I have become intrigued with the Sakatah Singing Hills Trail, which begins in Mankato and then travels westward for 39 miles to Faribault, Minnesota. I have been most familiar with the end of the trail furthest west, but gradually am moving eastward to experience it. Today I began east of Eagle Lake, MN, and walked further east toward Madison Lake, and then past Madison Lake. In my 12,000 steps and nearly two hours I saw only one other person, and that after I had begun my trek back toward my car.

It is a sullen morning, cloudy and grey, with impending rain. It is warm, though, and feels more like a summer morning than an autumn one. I was surprised at how many frogs I noticed today. With the occasional marshy area abutting the paved walkway it is no surprise that there are amphibious creatures lurking nearby, but I cannot remember seeing so many on a particular morning. Someone more in tune with the ways of these animals and their connection to the seasons probably has a good explanation as to their behavior.


Each day I am seeing more mottled colors festooning the hardwoods as I walk. There are more oranges today than there were yesterday. The sumac continues to increase in its red intensity. The fruit-bearing trees and bushes are sporting the results of their summer's work. I noticed small pin-cherry like bushes, crab apples, and wild plums today.

First Orange Leaves

Walk Location: Sakatah Singing Hills Trail
Time of Walk: Early morning
Temperature: 60 degrees
Skies: Overcast with sprinkles of rain
Steps: 6,000

I spotted the first orange leaves of the year this morning. I've watched as the red sumac continues its progress from verdant green to brilliant crimson; now I'm reminded that fall is certainly underway as I see nestled in the greenery of the forest the first telltale oranges that bespeak a change of season.

It is a warm, humid, overcast morning, the kind that beckons one to continued sleep, and although I slept longer than usual this morning, I forced myself to walk. When the day is clear and clean and sunny it is easier for me to push myself out the door, but I find myself becoming more and more devoted to this walk routine. Among its benefits for me are lower blood glucose levels (I am a type 2 diabetic, attempting to push back that diagnosis), better-fitting clothes and an improved sense of well-being. I find that my energy level is more consistent throughout the day and that, while I feel weary in the mid-afternoon (as has always been my pattern), it is a different kind of tired, which does not feel like the "crash" I am accustomed to. Although I am not normally one to find fulfillment from comparing statistics, it has become a challenge for me to push myself toward more than 10,000 steps (total) per day.

For someone who has been sedentary much of his life, and for someone whose vocational life requires a lot of focused, reflective desk time, I am an unlikely candidate to cheerlead on the physical fitness team. But I can see firsthand its benefits, and those coupled with the immediate positive effects are mutually reinforcing.

Shorter Trek, Harder Walk

Walk Location: Rasmussen Woods (Mankato, MN)
Time of Walk: Early morning
Temperature: 54 degrees
Weather Conditions: Warmer and overcast
Steps: 5,900

It is warmer this morning, almost ten degrees warmer than yesterday, and I can tell the difference. By the time I am one-third the way into my walk I am perspiring. On autumn mornings like this is hard to know whether to wear shorts or pants, a t-shirt or a t-shirt plus heavier shirt. I opted for pants and t-shirt plus a heavier shirt, and it makes my hour less enjoyable.

Rasmussen Woodsis a heavily wooded, hilly series of trails that conjoin at a nature center. Once the walker enters the tree-canopied trails it feels as though the traffic and city activity are miles away. In fact, in just a few hundred yards there is a residential area and a major street. Time spent here is quiet, pleasant and calming, but the experience is more challenging than walking a sidewalk or typical paved trail. The footing is forest bottoms and there are many hills to traverse. Even though my walk is half the distance of yesterday's, it feels like it was more strenuous with the up's and down's of the trail and the softness underfoot.

Animal life in a forest is subdued and often muted. The occasional deer (we saw one on our way out this morning) and bird are exceptions to the quiet rule. Having grown up in the part of Minnesota that is heavily forested, I was never aware of how quiet a pine or hard wood forest is until my experiences, later in life, on the prairie, which seems to hum with nature's activity.

The weather is turning and the threat of rain hangs in the air. I remind myself to appreciate these fleetingly warm days of early autumn, since it will not be long before the crispness in the morning air becomes more permanent, the leaves begin to turn shades of red, yellow and orange, and eventually the first snowfall will come.

Now That's What I'm Talkin' About

Walk Location: Red Jacket Trail (from West Mankato, MN) past Mt. Kato around Indian Lake
Walk Time: Early Morning
Temperature: 45 degrees
Skies: Clear blue and sunny
Steps: 13,900

One of the common personality assessment instruments rates me as a high "P" for perceiving, which means that I abhor anything that feels closed in. I always like to have numerous options before me, I find it difficult to decide what it is I want to do at any given moment, and I am always seeking something new. This morning's walk experience confirms my idiosyncratic self.

A few minutes after 6 AM Gizmo and I got into the car, and we drove to what is called "West" Mankato. We parked the car near one of the points where the Red Jacket trail begins and entered the morning chill. Another moist cool night produced heavy dew, which you might even be able to see on this leaf.



After my first 3,000 steps I felt the urge to push myself a little harder than usual, so we continued our trek forward. We continued forward out of the city limits with its tree-canopied walkway into the break that opens into a prairie area. Glancing ahead I could see Mt. Kato (a small ski area in our community), green this time of year, but soon to be festooned with glistening white snow and ice. It was at this point that I had a decision to make. I could turn around and count about 7000 steps, or I could press forward. It was early, I had the time and Gizmo was holding up well.

In that moment of choosing between predictable and new, I chose new. We walked on to the west of the base of Mt. Kato and continued southward, picking up the South Route trail and moving to the east. By this point I knew there was no turning back, and we trudged forward.

Eventually we came to Indian Lake and witnessed the beauty of steam cascading upward, the contrast of the warm water with the crisp air. In the background I could hear the honks of Canadian geese making their annual pilgrimage to the south. The sound of geese in the air is always a tell-tale sign that autumn is at hand.



We walked on pavement, on asphalt and gravel in this morning's hike, and by the time we returned to the car had clocked nearly 14,000 steps (which is somewhere between five and six miles). My daily goal at this point is about 10,000 steps per day (total), so I have, by 8:30 AM, already surpassed my expectations. On days like today my personality type suits me well.

What I Would Have Missed

Walk Location: Sakatah Singing Hills Trail, east of Eagle Lake, MN
Time: Early Morning
Temperature: 50 degrees
Skies: Cloudy and dark
Steps: 9,000

My wife awakens most mornings by 5:30 to head to the YMCA for her morning fitness routine. She has, over the years, tried to convince me that I should join her there, but I prefer to be outside to get my exercise. As she left this morning it was still dark, the morning cool from the night's temperature drop. As I heard her shut the bedroom door I debated whether I should get up and walk or enjoy another hour's rest. I decided to walk, and I'm glad I did. Otherwise I would have missed an impressive sunrise, only haphazardly captured here in this grainy early morning photo from my iPhone.



As Gizmo, my walk companion, and I stepped from the car it was still dark. By the time we had walked ten minutes the sun was beginning its rise and the eastern horizon was a deep cherry color, brighter nearest the base and then gradually shifting to a molten gray. Within twenty minutes the luxurious red had faded into the mottled grey of a cool autumn morning. Had I stayed in bed even a few minutes longer this morning I would have missed it.

There have been times when my emotions have kept me in bed longer than I wish. In those cloudy times of my life I find it hard to believe that the new day is going to be much different than the previous ones have been. When I am discouraged it is easy for me to see only the cyclic, monotonous repetition of days. Depression feeds upon itself. The darker the mood the less ability there is to see newness and opportunity, and the deeper one ebbs into emotional pain the more everything seems the same.

Perhaps that's one of the reasons I walk. I know how I become if I do not push myself to embrace the world each day. I become emotionally indistinct, seeing little reason for awakening, imploding from within. Walking seems to counteract that for me. It is activity, so my body benefits, and if my body benefits my mind begins to heal, and if my mind begins to heal then my emotional chaos seems to fad into an orderliness granted by the marvelous complexity of nature. And when I take time to look, perhaps I should say worship, in the Cathedral of Nature I am surprised by what I see. Each day there is something new. No plant is exactly the same day after day. No two sunrises are exactly alike. The combination of air temperature, humidity, moisture and wind is each day unique. Moment by moment life unfolds, and if I walk I have the opportunity to experience it directly and immediately. It is not the vicarious enjoyment of a television program capturing nature's splendor, nor the one-step-away virtual experience of the internet. It is real. It is ilife.

And it always shows me what I would otherwise have missed.

Not Always That Exceptional

Walk Location: Minneopa State Park
Walk Time: Mid-Afternoon
Temperature: 75 degrees
Steps: 4,000

There are some walks to remember and others that are rather typical. Sometimes, especially when I walk first thing in the morning, I awaken with anticipation and find that the discipline that pushes me out to walk is rewarded with a sense of well being. This afternoon's walk, though, was less than exceptional. After a busy Sunday morning I was tired to begin with, and my legs and feet were aching before I began. Accompanying me were our dog and two of my younger sons who are now thirteen and twelve. Fortunately they reigned in their bickering ways, so I was relieved of that burden, and neither complained much about the walk, the weather, the length of time moving or one of the other trivial irritations that often emerge when they walk with me. So, in that regard it was pleasant enough. It just wasn't all that exceptional. It was not a "walk to remember."

Autumn continues to invade the final stand of summer. As we walked the sun peeked out from behind clouds warming us but not making us hot enough to perspire. The breezes are the whisps of autumnal chill, not the blasts from summer's oven. Among the visual rewards were a beautiful purple thistle standing alone amongst an array of various prairie grasses.



The milkweeds are plentiful this year, with many buds on each stalk awaiting the drying winds of the weeks to come so that the whispy seeds within can be released into the environs. On the leaf of one of the milkweed we discovered this beautiful caterpillar.

Once Again, A Walking Companion

Walk Location: Sakatah Singing Hills State Trail
Walk Time: Early Morning
Temperature: 52 degrees
Skies: Clear becoming sunny
Steps: 9,900

When I am walking near home and look down this is the happy, compliant face I see. Gizmo has walked with me so much that we can no longer use the word "walk" in our home without him becoming frenetically enthused about the possibility of his accompanying me. Claudia and I were walking with Gizmo in town about a week ago when an unleased, larger dog attacked him. It happened so quickly that I wasn't able at first to hoist Gizmo from danger, and the lunging accoster was able to grab Gizmo on the hindquarters. Fortunately I was able to pick him up before the other dog could grab him by the neck or shake him to cause internal damage or broken bones. After his traumatic attack Gizmo's condition continued to deterioriate. He was limping, found it difficult to walk and was eating and drinking little. We took him to the vet who gave him a thorough check and discovered he had received a puncture wound in the earlier altercation. We began to give him prescribed medication and within two days he was anxious to walk again.

On Saturday he and spent a good share of the early morning walking on the Sakatah Singing Hills Trail. We started at the beginning of the trail and ventured eastward for many steps before turning around. The first half of our walk was a quiet, solitary one. We encountered only one biker in those early morning hours. By the time we began our return trek there were several walkers (including a couple of small groups) and bikers. Morale of the walking story: if you want solitude, go early on a Saturday when the air is chilly.

Of the many types of vegetation producing berries during these weeks of autumn is this one. I love the natural contrasts between the simple colors of this fauna. The greens and white are tinged with red. I am not able to identify this species. Perhaps someone else can help me?

Morning Breaks

Walk Location: Shalom Hill Farm (rural Jeffers, MN)
Walk Time: Early Morning
Temperature: 45 degrees
Skies: Too early to tell
Steps: 4,700


I have forgotten how dark it is in the middle of the prairie once the autumnal sun slides beneath the capacious sky. As I returned last night to my room following a clergy group discussion I had to turn on the light in order to find my way into the room. I grew up in a rural area, so it's not as though I am unfamiliar with the deep darkness of night, but it has been some time since I have been without city lights and noises. Because of the way my room is situated (and the architecture of the retreat center itself) my window looks out over the prairie. There are no peering eyes and virtually no traffic of the gravel road leading to Shalom Hill Farm, so I leave both my window and curtains open as I sleep.

As is my habit I awake early and glance out the window from my bed. I can feel the chill that has entered my room during the night through my open window and pull the covers tighter around my slumbering form. It is still too dark to enter the morning quiet, so I close my eyes and wait another forty-five minutes, contemplating what will be the joy of my morning walk. By 6:00 the darkness slows ebbs as the first fissures of light eke their way upon the eastern horizon. The retreat center is shadowy and quiet, my fellow retreatats enjoying well-deserved rest as I eagerly step my way into a delightful morning.

The chill in the air perks my senses, and as the verdant moisture connects with my skin I can feel the joints in my hands begin to tighten. There was a time when I did not understand when senior citizens spoke of the ache of arthritis, especially from cold, and now I am beginning to understand. It is like a headache in the fingers, but I know that within minutes the internal warmth I will generate from my walk will bathe my joints in welcome relief. I am joined in my walk by the retreat center dog, a small, short-haired terrier creature happy for early morning human companionship.

The gravel road in front of Shalom Hill Farm is long and straight and hilly. From the peak of the first hill to the other it must be nearly a mile in length. I remember again how distance on the prairie is deceivingly greater than what it appears to the eye. Small rocks crunching beneath my feet I insert one iPod earbud into an ear, leaving the other unfettered so that I will not miss the tell-tale aural indicators of a prairie awakening. There are deer prints in the sandy areas at the side of the road, and ahead I see their silhouetted forms as three whitetails walk from one side to the other, their images black against an orange horizon.



I have begun at the top of Shalom Hill, and as I descend I step into the foggy, moist blanket created as a result of early autumn's cold air's intrusion upon the warm summer remnants of hay and grass. I hear roosters welcoming the morning as I continue to walk a solitary path, spared any interference by car or human. As the sun continues to make its way over the hill ahead the birds are awakening, their spirited joy filling the landscape with vitality.

A new morning breaks upon the prairie, and it feeds my soul.

The Hills Are Alive

Walk Location: Jeffers Petroglyphs (Jeffers, MN)
Walk Time: Late Morning
Temperature: 62 degrees
Skies: Clear and sunny, little breeze
Steps: 1,900



During the seven years we lived in Luverne, MN, I grew to love the prairie with its undulating hills, immensity of space and openness. Since our move a little more than two years ago to Mankato, where the prairie meets what was once called "the Big Woods" I have come to appreciate the beauty of a new part of Minnesota. Today, though, I was reminded of what I have missed from the prairie experience.

On my way to a clergy retreat in rural Windom (near Jeffers), MN, I had just enough time to stop by the Jeffers Petroglyphs for a walk and brief exploration. The Minnesota Historical Society operates this site which is home to ancient carvings of human origin in a number of the rock formations. For the visitor the choice is between a direct trail route to the Petroglyphs or a longer route that takes in some of the prairie. Since I had the time to enjoy a beautiful late summer September morning, I took the long way.

The prairie opens wide and beautiful in this part of Minnesota, and I was struck during my walk through the mowed trail at how lively is this environment. Surrounding me were a diversity of prairie grasses, flowers and other vegetation. The monarch butterfly in the above picture is a striking contrast to the purple of the plant, and at just the right moment I was able to capture some of today's abundant beauty. There is something airily delightful in seeing a butterfly lazing on a cool September morning, seemingly oblivious to the shortness of time before the coolness of autumn sets in.

The photo to the right captures some of the colorful beauty of the prairie. The combination of purples and blues, browns and greens, yellows and greys create an impressive palette of natural beauty.


Now that I have been absent the prairie for two years I had forgotten how vital and active it is. The various insects flitting and buzzing about, the butterflies and other small, limber creatures making their presence known stand in stark contrast to the somnolescent forested trails I now walk most frequently. Had I been using a better camera than that on my iPhone you could see the small insects sucking the nectar of life from the purple plant in this photo.



The reason most people find themselves at the Petroglyphs is not the examine the prairie landscape but to witness the rocks in which ancient peoples carved symbols and left other reminders of their presence. Can you identify the handprint in this rock?

I was the only person on the prairie today, so it was an opportunity for solitude and communing with the glories of creation. All around me were reminders of life, present and active in the vegetation and insects who call this habitat home, as well as ancient and prehistoric in the many carvings left behind by native peoples innumerable years ago.

Before My Very Eyes

Walk Location: Sakatah Singing Hills Trail (near Eagle Lake, MN)
Walk Time: Early Morning
Temperature: 48 degrees
Skies: Clear, becoming sunny
Steps: 8,000

The Sakatah Singing Hills Trail begins in Mankato, MN, and winds it way another 39 miles before ending near Fairbault, MN. My walking experience on the Sakatah Trail has been limited to the beginning of the trail in Mankato, and the next two segments which are near Eagle Lake, MN. Eventually I plan to walk most of the Trail, although it will be in small chunks here and there.

I exited my car to step onto the paved walkway and wondered if I was underdressed for this late summer morning. Glancing at my car's instrument panel I noted the temperature to be 48 degrees, and I could see the breezes rustling leaves on the trees and the fronds of maturing corn stalks. The Sakatah Singing Hills Trail (at this end of the trail, anyway) is a marvelous melange that includes city dwellers, farms, hardwood forests and verdant greenery.

The portion of the trail I walked today is beyond the city limits of Mankato. It has a decidedly rural feel to it. Buttressed by trees and farm fields, the lake was resplendent as the early morning rays of sun glimmered off the gently rippling surface. Cattails are at the peak of their season and fill the swampy edges of the lake in question.

As I began my walk I shivered in the early morning dew, knowing that within minutes I would create enough energy to enjoy the brisk coolness against my face and legs. There is something about a dew-drenched early morning with the beckoning warmth of sunlight that refreshes the soul. As I walk I can see my breath in the air. I hear the songbirds, witness the deft movements of a hawk careening down the tree-covered arches of the path and watch a skittering squirrel hide in the leaves.

There are few other pedestrians or bikers on the path this morning. I encounter two middle-aged women who provide a friendly "good morning," and several bikers intent upon their destinations. For much of my walk I am alone, and I revel is the transformation of nature before my very eyes.



By the time I return to my vehicle a little more than hour later the leaves which had been dripping with dew are drying in the morning sun and nature's bounty has awakened. Birds and squirrels embrace the day. Days like these are unique, no two alike, kind of like these Rudbeckia hirta, "Black-Eyed Susan," a perennial whose season is summer into the fall.

When the Sumac Glows

It is September 2nd in southern Minnesota, and the morning emerged dense, humid and overcast.  I walked one of my favorite paths in Minneopa State Park which takes me through a wooded area along the high bluffs above the Minnesota River.

The terrain is relatively flat, although the footing is uneven at times.  The pathway is occasionally mowed by state park staff, so it is easy to spot the tree trunks pushing from the earth and the occasional lump created by an underground animal.

As I walked this morning in the moisture-ridden air the wind helped to dispel the humidity, creating a refreshing, lush experience.  I was surprised that at the beginning of my venture my shoes attracted dew, but once I crossed the dirt road to continue westward there was no dew.  My first steps were near a marshy area, and then I moved into a drier, forest-abutting-the prairie experience.

I was alone on today's walk.  Usually I am accompanied by my faithful canine companion, Gizmo, but last night while we were walking in town he was attacked by a larger, non-tethered dog.  By the time I could hoist Gizmo into my arms he had been bitten on the left hindquarters, so today he is moving very slowly.  Typically my invitation, "Gizmo, do you want to go for a walk" results in a tail-wagging blither of dog happiness, but today my only response was a dejected painfully panting pet recovering from his injuries.

It is also the first day of school for our high school children.  (In our community younger kids start a day or so later).  Even without a calendar I would be reminded that it's time for school to begin again because of the Rhus glabra (smooth-skinned sumac)   which is found in abundance on the trails I walked this morning.  In the fall "red sumac" becomes vivid red in color, although its name derives from the brilliance of the leaves rather than from the seeds of the plant, which are red before the green leaves turn crimson.

This photo captures the beginning change in the green leaves, which will be glowing red in no time at all. The berries of the red sumac contain hard seeds which are loaded with ascorbic acid (vitamin C). It is reported that Native women used this berry in jams or jellies requiring an acidic touch. Native Americans also found a medicinal use in treating various bacterial diseases.

I spotted no wildlife this morning which is unusual for this particular walk, which often results in white tail deer, birds of various kinds and squirrels. Perhaps it was the meterological density of the morning.

The Value of a Walk

I am forty-four years old. I have walked for at least forty-three of those years, but only for the past five or so with any kind of intention. In the first period of my life walking was a practical necessity. As a child it was to get from place to place, from toy to toy, to wriggle outside of a caring adult's grasp. In my teenage years it was to get as far as the couch so I could watch television, or from my place of leisure to step into a car to get me where I wanted to go. As a young adult in college it was to walk from class to class or to visit a friend's room or to get to the business office to take care of a student bill. After college my walking consisted of what it took to get me where I needed to go. It was a sedentary existence.

By the time my young adult years began to fade into this place called "middle age," I was married with multiple children requiring me to walk for more than my own purposes. In the middle of the night when one of our young kids was sick it was a walk that brought me to their crib so that I could pick him up and comfort him. As the cook in the family my walks would be often to the refrigerator, the cook top and the sink, multiple times every day. As our kids have grown up their experiences have increased, so my walks have taken me to sporting events, school conferences, and occasionally, the court room.

In the past few years the walk experience has taken on a new significance. What was once a pedantic, routine, pragmatic task has become something I need to do with intention, so that while I still walk to do all the regular things a person does, I also walk to help discern my life's direction and to prove to myself, day by day, that no two days are quite the same.

I have always been a person easily distracted and bored. I resent repetitious action and formulaic approaches to tasks or life. I could not live in a world that is simply a series of repeating cycles time and again. The chaos of nature and the world around me is refreshing and exhilirating. So often I find that it is my walk that fires the spark of imagination, or soothes the complicated fabric of my soul or offers me a deeper understanding of my spiritual journey.

This blog will exist as a place to share memorable walk experiences. I will record my observations of nature and my growing personal awareness and will guide those who wish to discover, as I do every day, the value of a walk.