Headed for the barn.
Dateline: 05/19/24
2,117 Miles Walked To Date.
I completed 2/3rds of the urban roads within that ellipsis between Patterson & Ashley Streets. I’m saving the last lower wedge on the southern end for the final walk. I’ll finish at the old court house, on the morning of May 31st. I envision a Rockyesque kind of affair as I summit the steps. Can’t ya just hear that theme song? (Yo, Adrieeeeeeennn). Actually, it’ll prolly be a bit more anti-climatic, more along the lines of how Forrest called his run; “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.”
I wanted to add a post-script to my post, titled -In the Eye of the Beholder-. The subject was my own judging of what I thought was the most enchanting glen in the shire. Based on the contours of her land, the curve of her roads, and how meticulous her collective groom, I awarded the sash and crown to the environs around Shilo and Franks Creek Roads. However, some mice prefer country living’ and some prefer the city. So, I’d be remiss to omit a separate scoring of our urban quarters. I’ve walked all of”em and the judging (be it subjective) was easy. The feel I got from the more posh, gated, or cloistered neighborhoods, was like Disney’s Celebration community, with it faux “Happiest Neighborhood on Earth” ambiance, or like the set from Jim Carey’s Truman Show, where his world is discovered to be a Strawberry Fields – where nothing is real. I saw no strollers, children on bikes, home gardeners…evidence of neighbors in the hood. Not even a speck of trash. The word sterile comes to mind.
But, for my dwelling dollar, should I ever become a city mouse again, I would choose the Brookwood North Historic District, hands down. This residential enclave is filled with post WWII bungalows, most of which are period design, modestly sized, lovingly maintained, and devoid of ostentation. The streets are shaded by trees of similar age and many of the yards were resplendent with springtime color. I exchanged hellos with a number of kindred walkers enjoying a comfortable morning. The neighborhood had pulse and a feel of stable safety that doesn’t come from a keypad. The only bruises I observed were where developers had been allowed to split homes into rentals for college students. Even the newer duplexes built for student housing showed signs of deterioration that begins the first day the first scholar settles in. (Back in my day college students generally weren’t into fastidious yard maintenance. By appearances, that hasn’t changed).
And with that, my countdown begins. I can see the lights of Oz. Over the last couple of weeks, this greyhound will be chasing Rusty round the county track in pursuit of mileage to match that of the Appalachian Trail. As I near the symbolic top of Springer Mountain I feel my pulse quickening, but my pace slows just to make the journey last. It is bitter sweet.
Le’ts go for a walk.
Quote of the week: Kathleen Jamie
“To walk is to notice”