I was a contrary child, picky about many so-called “normal foods” such as peas and carrots, green beans, broccoli or onions. I did, however, adore liver, spinach, and prunes. It was not an easy childhood.
“Hit ‘em harder, Mom,” I was said to have coached my mother. We were visiting my mother’s great Aunt Em, known to all, including her grandchildren, simply as Aunt Em. She was also known as “The aunt who lived in her barn.”
She had invited us to gather some quail from her dovecote for our dinner. My mother agreed but worried that my sensitive spirit might be disturbed by seeing small birds killed for our meal. Little did she know….
“Now I know who my real friends are.” We’ve probably all heard this; maybe we’ve said it ourselves. I know I’ve thought it. That “Now” can apply to countless situations. The shock, hurt, and often the bitterness conveyed by these words are transparent.
When encountering someone I had lost touch with, the story they share with me is often of an earth-shaking life change: a family death, divorce, illness, becoming a family caregiver. Each circumstance involves upheaval, with increased demands that feel overwhelming. These encounters often end with “Now I know…” A nod, a shrug, affixing a sad smile on my face is about all I can manage to offer.
It’s easy to feel outrage toward those apparently unfeeling friends, family members, or even anonymous government entities who let us down. No matter the level of support we do receive, in these crises, nothing ever feels like it is enough.
I’ve had time to think about this predicament a lot while learning to live in a changed body/changed life myself. Many loved ones did step in (repeatedly). New people entered my life (eventually). And yet, I am able to see how my life has played out only in retrospect. In the midst of big life changes it is usually impossible to imagine anything changing. But it will.
This blog and my books often make note of my challenges in getting outside. (Total paralysis on my right side from life-saving brain surgery that has partially resolved.) Many of you have your own reasons for seeking out Easy Walks. So… what has made the difference in helping me get outside safely? Family, yes. Friends, yes. People who are willing to drive me to far-flung destinations, yes. However, learning how to best use physical supports to aid me in walking outdoors has been a more challenging quest. Tools I have found useful have varied as my body has healed and become capable of doing more on my own.
When I returned home from the hospital after brain surgery in 1993, I did a great deal of sitting. Getting across a room was an effort; reaching the other end of the house to use the bathroom was a major undertaking. I spent a lot of time observing my healthy, active children and visiting with neighbors from my cushioned rocker in our living room.
By my side, ready at a minute’s notice, was the cane I had brought home from the hospital. Ugly stainless steel, four little feet at its base to provide better balance, this cane remained standing even when I could not.
One of the essays in my memoir, My Liturgy of Easy Walks: Reclaiming hope in a world turned upside downrecalls a childhood game we played in the midst of one Florida summer. My siblings, friends and I gathered each night in the South Florida heat, shut our eyes tight and spun in circles. One person sat out the game, perched on the wall, keeping watch over us. We took turns climbing up onto the wall, assuming the role of watcher. When up on the wall we kept our eyes open, ready to alert anyone wandering near the street or too close to the wall.
I recently found a picture of my younger brother sitting on that wall, with my younger sister standing next to him. Sometimes a photo can make the difference in understanding a story…or not. Here’s the essay, just one of many included in the book. Enjoy.
Watching
The basic premise of the game, that summer of 1965 in South Florida, was for all of us to shut our eyes and turn around in circles in our front yard. Our goal was to keep spinning till we grew dizzy. A designated “watcher” sat on the five-foot-high brick wall that jutted a few feet out into my parents’ yard. The watcher’s job was to keep their eyes open and warn spinning children if they drew too close to the wall, or ventured near the street.
Years ago I was living in a house with constant construction upheaval. The house was a “fixer-upper” and when we moved in I had little idea what that would mean. The tasks required to make the house stable and functional were endless. Clearing the mess and dust felt overwhelming so most cleaning was left undone. It was only when the marriage ended and construction ceased that I felt in my bones how hard it had been to live with constant upheaval.
This article was first published at the Travel Massivewebsite. Many thanks to their editors for providing a platform for travel interests of all kinds, around the world.
Lots of trail guides and magazine articles provide information about the compelling reasons to visit any certain area. What is consistently missing is information about trail surfaces. Whether you have a disability or simply enjoy the outdoors you can be make a difference to others by noticing and then sharing with others details that are included in the article below.
My Story of Hiking with Mobility Challenges
Travel Massive article:
Some people think that because I have written a number of trail guides I must be a super hiker. In fact, there was a time in my life when walking across a room was an insurmountable challenge. While healing has come after disastrous brain surgery that saved my life yet left my right side paralyzed, I still require support to navigate uneven surfaces: bumpy sidewalks, crowded airport terminals, or rooty or rocky outdoor spaces.
One of the most important factors that dictate whether I can safely manage an outing is asking about an area ahead of time. To safely navigate an outdoor trail, I need to know about trail surfaces Easy Walks, that is, not too many roots or rocks, relatively level, with something of interest along the way.
While out walking, do you find yourself thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with your surroundings? I know I do. Pairs of walkers passing by chat about all sorts of things—family, friends, work, etc. Other solitary walkers stride along, their thoughts unknown to passersby.
When I get outside my thoughts often stray to unsettling situations. Somehow the quiet, the beauty all around me opens a door to places I tend to avoid thinking about. However, I also have had instances when these times of quiet have helped me make sense of confounding situations.
If you will, take a walk with me. My hope is that in hearing a little of my own story it might help you make sense of something in your own life.
In my growing up years I felt keenly the absence of my grampy, my dad’s father, Glen Kuhl, who had died before I was born. This sense of loss may have been reinforced by my mother, who never stopped mourning the loss of this man who had been as a father to her.