Good Bye George

He wasn't much of a walker.   His health didn't allow him to touch the world that way.    Instead, he found the internet and social media.   He commented almost daily on his life, Pittsburgh sports, and his family.   He virtually walked through the lives of those he touched.

He wasn't much of a walker.   His health didn't allow him to touch the world that way.   Instead he opened up his heart to children and grand children.   He filled gaps that had been left behind by those less caring.   He emotionally walked through the lives of those he adopted as his own.

On Sunday George walked off to his final place of peace.   Someone will need to cheer a little louder for the Pens to fill this gap he left behind.   Love you, Paula, David, Melissa, and Heidi.

I've written too many of these lately.

Horizoncasting

Almost everyone is fascinated by weather.   We dedicate entire TV channels to it.   Forecasting the weather is important to folks.   "Shhh! The weather is coming on."   I like to use the horizon as a forecaster.   Very unscientific and probably not that reliable, but it somehow makes me feel like Jeremiah Johnson.

In my world, if the sun is slow to shine but there are stars in the west, it is going to be a decent day.   If there are a few stars in the sky but totally black in the west it is going to rain sometime today.   If there are no stars anywhere and the sun is slow, rain is eminent.   If there is any thunder or lightening anywhere, the dogs and I turn and head for home. 

The direction of the wind gives me an idea of how much different the day's temperature will be from the current temperature; north wind colder, south wind warmer. Wind from the east means I will not like the day's weather. Substitute snow for rain and that's pretty much all I need to know to get dressed for the day.

I don't get to see my favorite horizon show very often but it is always amazing. An hour before dawn and a fast approaching rain storm is on the way. Lightening through the clouds provides a colorful fireworks display in the west while stars shine brightly and serene in the east. On these rare days, I am again reminded why I live in the country...so that I can make referrences to obscure mountain men.

Goodbye Mrs. Linn

Once, in downtown Chicago, I walked for what seemed like hours. I had spent too many innings at Wrigley Field and a cab dropped off myself and my friend, Tri-Limb, at the wrong hotel.   Almost everyone I know has a story about being with him.   Most of the stories begin with spending too many innings at a ball park.   The stories end with, "...and then he..."

I was lost with Tri-Limb and my strategy was to call back to Iowa to get directions.   Needless to say, we walked a lot.

Tri-Limb loses stuff.   The Commissioner says if you follow Tri-Limb around all day you can get rich off the money that he drops.   He once lost his car at a 7-11.   Hell, he even lost his arm.

Today is a much more somber.   Our good friend lost his mother.   She battled for an amazing stretch.   We never met but she meant a lot to my friend and so she meant a lot to me.

She has found peace.   So will your family and you and I will walk again in Wrigleyville.

Walking in Chicago (a second look)

In Chicago I use public transportation.   I don't live in Chicago, so I am not great at catching all the right trains and subways in a fluid motion.   However, this allows me to do one of my favorite things...walk.  Walking in Chicago is always interesting.   A sometimes a welcome change from the wild of rural Iowa.   The Second City is fast, diverse and unpredictable.   However, somethings are very predictable.

Since about 2006, you can predict that on every block you will encounter a panhandler if not two.    I never know which of my personalities will surface when confronted by someone begging.   Sometimes I want them to be invisible and I make no eye contact.   People in poverty are often invisible.  

Sometimes I place loose change and dollar bills in every cup I see, only to realize that I will never have enough loose change to make a dent in the requests.   I would much rather drop a ten spot by the guy sleeping in a doorway.

My friend The Commissioner would first give them a philosophy lesson.  Bullwinkle would have a discussion about lunch and ignore them.   Tri Limb would give them a cigarette.   Bean Counter would ignore them but not on purpose; he just wouldn't notice.   My two usual walking partners would steal their last scrap of food and skedaddle.

I never know on which side of me Caring Kim should walk.   I was taught old school that the woman should walk away from the curb, however this places her closer to the panhandlers; which makes her uncomfortable, but has saved her from more than one puddle drenching.

It seems that everywhere I walk in this windy city I pass a Dunkin Donut.   When I wake up early and go for a long exercise walk I see the most DD's.   By the end of this health walk I possibly could consume many more calories than I have burned.   There are two curiosities with Dunkin Donut shops.   They don't have a bathroom I can use and they don't supply their day-or-two-old pastries to the guy sleeping in the doorway.

Walking in rural Iowa is better.  My bathroom is the side of the road and if a guy is laying under a tree someone will give him a ride and a 3 course meal. 

Good Bye Uncle Paulie (I liked ths before)

My memories of all my relatives are stuck in time as if I was 12 years old.   As I remember them they were always delightful.   That's how I remember Uncle Paulie.   Every Italian family has an Uncle  Paulie.   You may remember this from Rocky and The Godfather.   Our Paulie actually looked a little more German than Italian.

I remember that he was generous.   While I was saving nickels for a Lionel train he would always add a few and tease me about how I was breaking him.  His wife disapproved.    (Who saves nickels?)

I remember he was a dancer.   I was always excited about going to family weddings because I would get to watch my Uncle Paulie dance with all the ladies.   His wife disapproved.

I remember he enjoyed a cocktail or two.   The cocktails made him happy and he was fun when he was happy.   He actually never stopped at two.   His wife disapproved.   We all drink for a reason.

Uncle Paulie passed on.   He is dancing through the pearly gates with a highball in one hand and throwing nickels to the kids with the other.   No word on his wife's approval.

No Icons

I have had two heroes for most of my life.   Roberto Clemente and Joe Paterno.   This week, like many, I'm thinking of Mr. Paterno.   I became part of the "Paterno Family" by playing football for Joe's brother, George Paterno.   This has been a hard week for me.   But there is something to take away.

This week I learned.   I learned that 10 000 good actions are erased by one inaction.   I learned that when a friend goes south the best you can do for yourself and the friend is bottom them out.   This week, after hearing all the horrible things that have been said about Joe Paterno, I learned that there are no icons.   I learned a lot of stuff from Joe over the years.   These were his last lessons. 

There are no icons.   In the end, all humans are just that, human.   And humans are flawed...even the old and wise.

Lazy

Cold weather makes me lazy.    Cold and wind seem good reasons at 4:30 AM to stay in a warm house.   By 8:00 AM I'm kicking myself for not getting out and walking.   At 5:30 PM my dogs are kicking me for not getting out and walking.   All that kicking and yet I'm lazy.

Sometimes I have false starts.   I get all dressed in my finest warm clothes and my flashing lights.   I hook up my dogs and head outside.   I make it partially down the lane and I turn around.   It's too cold for the dogs, it's too cold for me, I forgot I better get to work early today...false start and the kicking begins.

I find my motivation with mind games.   I'm driving a dogsled across Alaska.   I'm leading a search party into the frozen waste land.   I've landed on a unknown planet and must walk to where Captain Kirk will rendezvous.  

A bit crazy but it's better than all that kicking.

The Magic Watch

For a 60K walk my son loaned me his GPS watch.   Like all technology he presents to me, I first ridicule its use and deny that it will ever serve any real p[urpose.   I did the same with HD TV and now I own three.   Anyway, I wore the Garmin on this long walk.   I fell in love with it during the first hour.   During the third hour the battery lost its juice.   I complained for the next ten hours.

At my birthday party a few days later my son presented me with a new Garmin watch.   I wear it everywhere I walk.   I have maps of all my favorite courses prepared by this magic watch.   I know my pace, change in elevation and other stuff I ignore for now.   I've worn it on hikes, during road trips and I have a forever record of those events.   It's pretty simple.   I start and stop the watch and then later plug it into my computer.

If you are a walker with a little disposable income, you should buy a GPS watch.   If your short on cash, beg to your relatives...it worked for me.

Dark Days

Some mornings walks are extremely dark.   There is no Moon, it is partly cloudy and the time is close to changing.     It is so dark I can barely make out the details on my two dogs at the end of a 10' canvass strap.   It is so dark it wouldn't matter if it was foggy.   It's so dark that I won't walk down the hollow...too unsettling to be walking blind.  I have other options.

I thought maybe on the very dark days, after 30 minutes of walking I would start hearing better.   That doesn't seem to occur.   It doesn't matter how dark or how long I still hear poorly.   I can't speak for my walking partners.   Maybe their sniffer works better after walking in the dark.

I've always been a little spooked by the very dark, but the very dark and the very quiet is a bit too close to my idea of death.   Give me a little light and a little sound.

A Lotta Work

This morning while walking I contemplated retirement.    I seldom think about it.   I'm not sure how a person starts thinking of one thing and ends up somewhere else but it happens to me a lot.   Today while contemplating retirement I began thinking about every job that I have ever been paid to do.    There are many.

Junior High
Paper boy
Bingo runner
High School
Youth Core
Camp Counselor
College
Custodian
Steel Mill worker - Open Hearth
Camp Counselor
Food Service
While teaching
Sears Mechanic
Land surveyor
Farm Labor
Recreation instructor
Bus driver
School custodian
7th grade teacher
6th grade teacher
Middle School Math Teacher
Attendance supervisor
Bus Supervisor
Football coach
Basketball coach
Gymnastics Coach
Track Coach
While a principal
Plumber's helper
Electrician's helper
Landscaping
Farming, livestock and row crop
Educational Consultant
Staff development instructor
Elementary principal
Middle school principal
High school principal
At-Risk Coordinator
Gifted and Talented Coordinator

Most of these I have done two, three or four at a time.   I guess I'll quit thinking about retirement.   It tires me out.

Walking in Haight-Ashbury (a walk remembered)

I now realize I wasted part of my youth planning to go to Haight-Ashbury and join the revolution.   I walked to, through and from this area of San Francisco.   I saw some interesting shops ( I can't believe there is a market for that many expensive bongs) and ate in a cool Cuban restaurant.    I saw some folks who may have been living there since '68.   I saw some folks who wanted me to believe they were there since '68.   I mostly saw capitalists of whom I am one.    I don't feel so bad about missing the revolution.  

We were going to walk through the state park at the end of Haight Street but the contact high turned us around.   Caring Kim couldn't understand or tolerate how people that couldn't feed themselves were able to take care of so many pets.    Evey body had a scraggly looking dog.   This is what actually turned us around.

So as it turns out, in my old age, I am more suited to the Bohemian style of Sausalito than the grunge of Haight-Ashbury.   Even at my age, I'm more yuppy than hippie.   My dogs would have preferred the hippies.

The End of an Era

From time to time my friends lodge a protest after reading my blog.    It usually involves how I have characterized them using a code name.   The names are not an attempt to hide their identity but rather a way to tell the audience a little more about them.    They also serve as an inside joke.   Several months ago Larry the Communicator became a character in my blog.   Previously, he was Carhart Larry.   He lodged a protest and was heard.   I guess he's a good communicator.

I even felt the need to change the name of the edge of a road.   They once were called ditches.    I lodged my own protest and heard myself.   That area is now a road border...artfully done.

Alas, another protest has been lodged.   While walking around downtown San Francisco it became clear to me a change was required.   It seems that Checking Kim is leaving and Caring Kim is taking her place.   It is only right.   She checks because she cares (and because of that OCD thing).   

Welcome to my most frequent human walking partner, Caring Kim, who checks because she cares.

San Francisco Trek (A good memory)

When does a walk down the street become a challenge hike?   When you are walking the hills of San Francisco.   I am in reasonable physical condition, especially when it comes to walking.   The 3 1/2 hour walk I took In San Francisco tested that conditioning.

We (Checking Kim, Daring Dee, and I) started at our hotel at 4th and Market.   Within a few blocks we found a great deli for breakfast.   A few more blocks and we entered a whole new world, China Town.   At the street market they didn't bother with English labels and most of the foods were different than I have seen in America.   The entire walk through China Town was high energy and an attack on all the senses.   Amazing for a country boy from Iowa.   I want to do it again.

With little fanfare the pace slowed, the smells changed and the signs were now very familiar to me.   The country boy from Iowa was walking back to his roots.   I was now the Italian kid from Pittsburgh.   We were now walking through Little Italy.   Many cities have an Italian section.   Chicago's has almost disappeared.   Des Moines' is slowly becoming Hispanic.   Little Italy in San Francisco is still loaded with sidewalk cafes and still has an Italian flavor.

I began to see the hills that I remembered from movies and TV shows.   This was the San Francisco I expected.   Then I realized the hills were a much steeper grade than the camera can convey.   Daring Dee said we needed to walk to Coit Tower.   (At this point Checking Kim increased DD's vocabulary but that is for another blog.)   Coit Tower didn't seem so far away but as we began the walk up a hill so steep our knees were bouncing off our chins', I knew I would post a blog.   Stopping for occasional 30 second rests, we made it to the top feeling pretty good about ourselves.   Then we saw a group of trim 30-something guys that had run to the tower.   I felt less proud and DD felt something else.

Walking down from the tower was refreshing.   During this downhill piece we made our plans to walk to Lombard Street.    It seems there is a crooked road that must be seen.   However, it is also at the top of a steep climb.   Once again, knees to the chin, we began our climb.   CK decided she needed to walk more frequently.   We made it to the crooked street, took plenty of pictures and began our walk back to the Marriott.

It was our trip back that sealed the deal.   This was officially a hike.   It seems that without notice while walking away from the hotel we were walking down hill.    Our return was not exactly a cool down period.    But I would do it all again.   San Francisco is a wonderful city.  

Not Plugged In (Remembering Why I Don't)

Steve Jobs was an amazing man who changed our habits.   I by no means want to disrespect the genius, but I don't  iWalk.    When walking, I don't use an iPhone or an iPod.  I listen to nothing except what the world provides to my ears.   I'm not following some altruistic path.   I just think it is too dangerous.

Techie Gordan listens to eBooks while he walks.   He walks for many hours per day.   He is still alive and unharmed. I won't take that risk.

Even if the wind is to my back, I often can't hear cars coming up behind me.   And that is with my ears wide open.  If I were listening to an iPod or such, I would never hear anything.   I fear my dogs would be dragging home a pretty banged up carcass.  

Or maybe the dogs would leave me by the side of the road and run away, stopping at the first house that offered a quick treat.   Checking Kim would be very concerned until she was certain the dogs were safe.   I'm sure the glue wagon would find me eventually.

Anyway, I don't iWalk.

High Plains Drifter

I seldom get to walk in interesting places.   New Mexico was an interesting place.   I walked around many of the tourist spots.   I saw all the turquoise and silver I ever care to see.   Rode a tram.   Saw old town markets in Santa Fe and in Albuquerque.    I walked some cool trails in the very dark morning and checked out the constellations with the Google Sky app.   The high desert puts on quite a show.

I had another fun walk, a hike actually.   A 90 minute hike with friends up to some ancient ruins.   Hiking at 6700 feet is different than walking dogs at 800 feet.

I had two other walking experiences in New Mexico.   One spiritual and one creepy.   Myself and two friends walked through a museum at Los Alamos.   You may remember that this is the lab that developed the atomic bombs the were dropped on Japan.   There were several Japanese tourist also visiting.   I was uncomfortable.

In Old Town Albuquerque there was an old catholic church that was being refurbished.   The more I stayed inside the church the longer I wanted to be inside the church.   I'm not a very good Catholic but I felt extremely Catholic on that day.   Two weeks later and that feeling has still lasted.   I wish I would have done the church after the museum.

The Wind is the Worst (A Rerun)

If nasty weather is designed as a test, I generally fail.   There are elements of weather that make me not want to walk.   Walking in the rain is over romanticized.   My face is always wet, I can't see and my thighs provide a whole new meaning to road rash. When it rains we should call a rain out and stay indoors.    Rain storms are why cavemen invented caves.

A little fog never hurt.   But sometimes there is too much fog.    My little red blinkers just can't be seen.  On those days I call for a "fog out"and my dogs and I turn around and go home.   Like a rain out, it is a walk lost.   The fog is the reason we invented the lighthouse.

Walking in the snow is no better than the rain. I have the same set of problems as rain with the addition of frozen nipples and no visibility to traffic. When it snows, we should stay indoors. Snow storms are why the Sioux invented tepees.

I don't walk in the mud or when it's icy.   Slip sliding away is a Paul Simon lyric not a physical challenge.  When it is muddy and icy we should stay indoors. Mud and ice is why J.P. Morgan invented the mortgage.

The wind takes all of these nasties and accelerates the misery.   Add the cold to any of these and I can find the right clothing.   There is no right clothing that saves you from the wind.   Windbreakers are a North Face joke.  

Wind I hate you the worst.

Poker Dave

I never walked with Poker Dave.   Today's notes are not about walking, they are about remembering.   I walk long but my memory is short.   That's good and bad.

I never walked with Poker Dave.   I went to the horse races with him.   He bet small and pretty conservative.   He had a math system for most things.   Not the ponies.   He just had fun.

I never walked with Poker Dave.   I worked countless hours with him.   I asked him thousands of questions.   Sometimes he had great answers and sometimes he had better questions.    He always had great ideas.

I did play poker with him.   He introduced interesting games to our group.   He had a math system to try to win.   Most of our games were high/low split and he went low 75% of the time.   Everyone always knew he was going low, yet he often still pulled it off.   A conservative bettor that still took his shots.

A couple of days ago Poker Dave became a spirit.   He is now guided by the energy of the tens of thousands of students he has positively impacted over the years.   I wish I would have walked with him.

Traffic (reworked)

I'm very lucky that I come across a scarce few vehicles early in the morning.   Usually zero.    I consider that lucky because they are not expecting to see two dogs and a man as they are driving the back roads that time of day.   Whenever we do meet, my concern is what they are doing in that car.   My guess is reaching for coffee, fumbling with papers, cell phone, a cigarette, who knows what else.

I know something besides driving is going on because it often seems like they are headed right for us.   Then they do my least favorite thing...they hit the high beams.   If anyone reading this blog comes across walkers, runners, or bikers treat them as you would another vehicle and put the headlights on low beam.   Please don't blind my dogs and I.   If you really want to make them feel safe and secure, slow down and swing wide.   If you are interested in entering their heart, make eye contact, smile and wave...even if it's just a small lift of a finger off the steering wheel.

It is probably important to remember that waving one finger may be misinterpreted

When the cars and trucks do show up I pull my dogs close to me and head for the border of the road.   I stop walking and let the car pass while I make eye contact, smile and wave.    This reinforces that I am appreciative that they didn't crush us.   I like giving drivers positive reinforcement but sometimes I get hard headed.   If an oncoming vehicle doesn't move over a little and doesn't slow, I don't wave.

I don't think they care.

.

Walking in a Fog (posted again 'cause I like it)

Some would say the title of today's blog is my autobiography in four words.   But I'm discussing the weather phenomena, not my twisted brain. 

I enjoy walking just before dawn through the clouds that fall from the sky.

I like the small patches of thick fog that truly look like a cloud that fell from the sky.   Sometimes, in  low lying areas and around small ponds, the fog is set in so thick that it appears a large hand pushed bunches of cotton balls into a basket.

I must walk to appreciate fog.    The headlights from a vehicle ruin the experience...even with low beams.

Fog can mix with the environment and and take on completely different visual experiences.  Moonlight shining on fog gives off an almost blue glow, a near florescence.   When fog mixes with dust from a gravel road, I walk through a beige cloud. 

On some rare occasions there is too much fog.    My little red blinkers just wouldn't be seen until it was too late.   On those days I call for a "fog out"and my dogs and I turn around and go home.   Like a rain out, it is a walk lost.

Training Dogs to Walk ( A new look)

Since folks read that I walk with dogs they sometimes ask how I train my dogs to walk.   I hate it when my belly vibrates and shakes when laughing but that's what happens when I hear this question.   I do not and cannot train dogs.   My neighbor Doc trains his dogs.   They walk with him, never on a leash and they never stray far from him, even when wild animals or my dogs get close.   His dogs make my dogs seem like coyotes.

I use leash technology.   A ten foot canvas strap and a nifty little thing called a gentle leader.   It leaves a little mark on the big girl's snoot but it's much better than dislocated shoulders.  The vet thinks I should try invisible fencing at my place.   Again, I hate it when my belly vibrates and shakes when laughing.

 I did build a pen for them outside...and then made it taller...and then made it taller again.   My little girl can both jump and climb.   Since I rescued her, I am not completely sure of her heritage but it would seem her mother was a mountain lion.   The older girl dropped out of obedience training.   The two tiny little animals that were in class with her were very glad.   My dogs will sit if given the proper motivation.   I call them treat whores.  

But I do a little training.   During part of every walk, I shorten the leash and make them walk right beside me.   I also do this when they begin a chase or when I come across the occasional vehicle.   I actually believe this makes them walk much calmer.   The casual observer would not notice the calm.

Traffic Control in the Country (stopping again)

Every three days I walk east.   Five years ago they put up two stop signs (one in each direction) on the gravel road east of my cabin.   It is now a three-way stop.   For the first hundred years, north and south moved with the right of way and the traffic from the east stopped.   Not anymore.   There are more dogs in this area than people but somehow one more person must have built a house and tipped the demographic scale.   Now we have a three-way stop.

Since I had lived there for ten years without the sign I of course ignored it.   And, I of course got stopped by the county sheriff.   She was a deputy and was embarrassed to pull me over (but not embarrassed enough to ignore me).  She explained that the new sign was to slow gravel trucks and gave me a warning.

I guess the warning worked because now when I come to that intersection I slow down a bit before I run the stop sign.

This intersection is considered dangerous by some.   I know that once at that intersection a deer attacked Checking Kim's Jeep and we had to get it towed out of the ditch.   Deer don't pay anymore attention to that stop sign than I do.

Part Four of Walking with the Ones You Love

Part four was described by my niece far better than I could. 

When my uncle, Walking Wild, posted about walks with my grandfather, I was reminded of similar excursions I’d had with the man. Whistle Lew, as WW refers to him, was a different man by the time I came along. He was a little older and a little softer. When we went on gathering trips, often we’d drive in his boat of a car, but the experience was still similar enough. He took me a few times to gather fresh walnuts. The place we went was a property that was in my neighborhood, but it never occurred to me that those pungent green balls beneath the tree I often walked right by were actually hiding the nuts that my Grandma would use to bake her treats.

It’s still such a fond childhood memory of mine, folding the hem of my over-sized  tee shirt up to create a makeshift sling which I’d fill with my bounty. I’d carry the few I’d collected over for inspection by my grandfather, who would either add them to the bushel of quality ones he’d cut from the tree or toss them back under the tree if they were too far gone. I didn’t actually like walnuts and never ate them, but that never took away from my enjoyment of this exercise and the feeling that I’d pleased my Grandpap somehow by doing a good job.
Walnuts weren’t the only thing we gathered. Sometimes it was berries, sometimes pears. Nearly all of my favorite memories of my childhood take place in my grandfather’s expansive backyard gardens. I still have a love for food that comes directly from the source to the table, and I can’t help but have respect for the frugality of these adventures. Grandpap also taught me, with every nut piled in a bushel and every tousle of my hair along the way, that time spent with children is never wasted.


http://thepajamamama.net/2011/09/15/walking-wild-a-cross-post/#comment-227

Part Three of Walking with the Ones You Love

This is hard to admit and my youngest has given me ample grief.   I have, on many occasions, been a mall walker.   Why would anyone who writes like he's Daniel Boone and lives in near seclusion walk inside a shopping mall?   That's simple, for love.

Checking Kim has convinced me to walk around the pond at the mall and walk inside the mall.   It really isn't that bad.   I play a head game.   I pretend that I am a running back for the Pittsburgh Steelers and everyone else in the mall are tacklers.   I dodge them all as we make our way around the large oval.   My walking partner is very patient with my childish fantasies.

It has been a while but bad weather is on the way.    If you see us in the mall you won't recognize us.   Don't expect to see Davey Crockett and Calamity Jane scooting around the mall.   We will look like any other boring couple.   There is a way to pick us out.   If you see a blonde girl frequently walking in and out of stores and an old man walking in circles while he waits, that will be us.

I don't really have many mall walking tips but I do know something that makes sense.   "Walk where they ain't."   Go up and down stairs, crisscross the mall, do whatever it takes to hide from as much of the crowd as possible.    Some of the walkers zip around that place so aggressively you might think they are playing roller derby.  

"Walk where they ain't."

Part Two of Walking with the Ones you Love

The foothills of the Appalachians were a good place for my first walks.   In the woods around the Youghiogheny River, trees belonged to everyone. Walking to one particular tree was an annual tradition.   On a Saturday in the Fall, when he didn't have to work, Whistle Lew grabbed his duffel bag he had brought home when discharged after WWII and his first born son as he headed up the hill.

I could never have found this tree but somehow we always did.   When it appeared I was always in awe.   Every branch was heavy with ripe apples.   We harvested in a special way.   Daddy climbed the tree and starting with the lowest branches, threw the apples down to me.   I stood under the limbs with my leather mitt.

When I had caught enough apples to fill the entire duffel, he picked a few more for eating on the walk home.   I was never able to carry the load but Whistle Lew flung it over his shoulder and on his back as we walked across and down the hill.   We laughed about all the "pop flies" I had caught and decided how much apple sauce and how many apple pies Mum would make.    We ate our extra apples before we got home.   Kind of our own little unspoken secret.   The foothills of the Appalachians were a good place for my first walks.

You don't need to write down everything that happens on a walk but be careful to remember the good stuff.

Walking with the Ones You Love

My first walks were in the foothills of the Appalachians.   Strangely enough, these early walks were for the purpose of foraging.   It's not near as primitive as it sounds.   These walks always followed a similar framework.   The only difference was the availability of the fruit or vegetable.

In the Spring, when new tender plants were beginning to sprout, Whistle Lew would grab a bucket, a bag, a couple of old knives and his oldest son.   The two would walk through local cow pastures looking for just the right dandelion plants.   A few hours later, when dressed with wine vinegar and olive oil, these young plants made a great salad for a family of eight.   Usually we had a bonus.   Whistle Lew knew just the right mushrooms to pluck and bring home.   Mum would dress some sort of meat with fried mushrooms.   When served with a dandelion salad it was fine dining.

I never cared much about any of that.   My first thoughts would always be, "Where in the hell are those cows?"   I was afraid of cows.   With the milk cows in their proper place, I could proudly take on the awesome responsibility of making sure all of the dandelions and mushrooms made it from the pasture to the kitchen counter.   I wanted to make daddy proud.

Every now and again, walk with someone you love.

Daylight Savings Time and Bad Habits

Each walk is a little darker...no, no, literally, not figuratively.    I love the sense of solitude that beginning and ending a 60 minute walk in the dark brings to my mind.   It is one of the few things that keeps the ADD monster at bay.   Some mornings are so dark that I worry that my vision is failing.   Of course it is but it's not related to the darkness.

When there is no Moon and it is partly cloudy, it can be so dark I barely make out the details of my two dogs at the end of a ten-foot leash.    Ending Daylight Savings Time will change this and I can't wake up any earlier.   

Of course the light never really can be preserved, it actually is more like daylight changing time.   For people that enjoy outdoor evening activities that require light, it is helpful.    To the contrary, a former neighbor, Fix-it Chuck, said that Daylight Savings Time is a conspiracy against the working man.   Designed to make us work an hour longer each day.

Often overlooked is the idea that this extension is only happening in the evening.   For me Daylight Savings Time increases the amount of dark I can walk in and I love it.   When we all 'fall back', there will be less daylight in the evening but more in the morning, when I prefer dark.   My high school counselor predicted I would spend my life 'bass ackwards'.

Dumb Deer and Clothing (2)

I'm happily away from computers for the next 5 days.   This is an earlier post.

I'm surprised that the deer population is as high as it is. A doe is one of the dumbest animals in the wild. Each morning two excited dogs and a shuffling human walker come close enough to pee on female deer. When these feeble-minded creatures do become concerned and decide to move, it is generally at a slow prance. If I were a poacher or a wild cat I could get my fill each day.

As it turns out I'm neither so I just end up with elongated arms from holding on to two excited dogs that feature themselves as mighty hunters. Truth be known if the deer would ever turn and snort I would be elongated in another direction...the dogs are not brave hunters.

It's different for the male deer. The bucks in Dallas County stay invisible or visible only from a distance, much like my neighbors.

Today's walking tip is on clothing. I have a lot of ideas about this topic so it will be revisited from time to time. Notice that I didn't say I have a lot of expertise. Most folks would share that I have no idea how to dress. That's not so. My taste is just confused between a Pennsylvania street punk and an Iowa country boy.

Anyway, folks in the know are always telling walkers to wear light clothing so they can be easily seen. That's OK advice if the background is a dark screen. What if I'm walking in a snow storm or in front of a patch of Queen Anne's Lace? Personally, I wear a combination of white and colored clothing. I think that makes me stand out from the ditches and the limestone gravel road.

I don't know if any of this is right so I have a back up plan. I wear a flashing red light. I know this works cause freaks out the farmer down the lane when he is out in his underwear getting his newspaper. However, my dogs and I can be seen from half-a-mile away.

In a future blog I will mention the idiots who shine their high beams on this merry threesome.

Counting (Twice)

Walking generally calms my often frantic behaviors.   Not always.   One of those behaviors is counting.   I count stuff.   That turns out to be a very annoying behavior pattern.   I know this because Checking Kim kindly interrupts my space visits to ask if I'm counting.   10 times I've said "No".

42 toes, 10 legs, 2 canvas straps, 6 eyes, 6 ears, 3 noses, 2 tails...

...this weekend I counted my dogs and I as we walked a familiar 6 mile course.   Too many teeth to count...

...6 miles, 1 fox, 3 deer...I'm trying to quit.  3 stop signs.   1.9 miles to the concrete.    1.0 miles to road sign.   2.9 miles to cemetery.  

 I have medication...any rich Burgundy.

Wild Aroma (Revised)

Why is it that everything in the country smells so much better than the city?    Even the gross stuff like:

• A distant skunk (Up close they are worse than anything the city has to offer.)
• Cleaning the stalls in the barn
• A dead carcass in the road border.

And the good smells are amazing:

• Alfalfa just mowed
• The difference between a fresh picked corn field vs a fresh picked bean field
• Fresh rain steaming on the hot summer earth
• Bacon and coffee from a nearby farm house

People are blamed, and rightfully so, for adding a lot of negative things to the environment.   The smell of fresh brewed coffee or sizzling bacon will never be one of those negative things.

Of course I can only wonder about the hundreds of smells Patience and Violet sense daily during their entire walk.    My weak olfactory misses that special experience.

White Gloves and Walking Surface (OCD revisited)

I have a security blanket when I walk.   Except in the middle of summer, I wear white gloves when I walk.   I have convinced myself that the gloves are for blowing my nose, keeping my hands warm due to poor circulation, increasing my visibility and even a bathroom aid  (that's delicate).   The reality is they are the last things I put on before I take the dogs out the door and I feel naked without them.   It is more habit and mind comfort than any other contrived reason.

I have a young teacher in my school that says I must look like Minnie Mouse walking down the road.   She thinks she's funny.

Rituals are important to runners and walkers.   I must sleep in the t-shirt that I will wear in the morning to walk.   I never like to wear the same pair of shoes two days in a row.   My dogs must be on the same side of the road every walk..   I must wear a watch, even if I am not timing anything.   I am constantly checking the distance against certain landmarks even though I have walked past them hundreds of times.   I don't mind finishing in the light but I really like to start my walk in the dark.

I know that when walking, ruts and loose rock should be avoided.   Yet, I walk on a rough gravel road  every day.   Not a day passes where I don't slip a little or slightly turn my ankle.  

My dogs keep me walking and my mortgage company keeps me on the gravel.

A Walk with Mr. Walking Wild (reposted)

I’ve hiked in forests, near beautiful landscapes, and on a foreign island, but all those pale in comparison to the unplanned walk I was able to have with Mr. Walking Wild; which of course is merely his blog name.   For to me, he takes on many names: Supporter, Friend, Father, Adviser, and most revered mentor.    Each roll he plays with love and admiration. After returning from the Orkney Islands, I spent the rest of that summer at my childhood home.    I took that trip as a life-altering experience, my worldview had completely changed. I began to reassess what I found important in life and I started prioritizing my relationships. I began to realize that my family created the backbone of my being. I also contemplated the definition of family, which ended up including people lacking blood relation. My family’s constant love and support have been consistent throughout all of my so-called phases of life. They were there for me whether I wanted to be a professional athlete, a real-estate agent, a solitary wilderness wanderer, and in all other plans or dreams I had. And from every day on, through retrospective thoughts and observations, family became more and more important. So when my dad asked me to take a newly acquired, very used truck with him to Lowe’s, I jumped at the opportunity. Then the unfortunate event of the truck blowing up a couple miles from our house (by the way I know nothing about cars so by blowing up I could very well mean there was a loose spark plug). And although I am not much of a subscriber to the theory that everything happens for a reason, for some reason neither of us brought our cell phones. We were left with only one option, walking some of the same gravel roads my dad talks about throughout his blogs. There was little silence throughout the walk. What became of it was an unprecedented conversation that I was only recently equipped to have with my dad. I learned a lot in those two miles, but I wished it would have been twenty. We were finally at a point in our relationship where we could connect emotionally and intellectually. I think this happens at some point in any parental-child relationship, but that takes nothing away from the grandeur of the exact moment. To quote musician Eddie Vedder, “Young men they pretend, Old men comprehend.” A quote that derives from the lack of connection youth is beginning to have with their elders. For some reason we young people think that our life events and life questions are foreign to our parents, or other older mentors; when in reality we can have no idea who we are until we know where we came from. I will never forget that walk. I can only compare it to some religious or tribal ritual of becoming a man. And as I am likely to come upon more failure, or other unprecedented occurrences, I always know that I have a loving dad who is there to ease the burden. Family should always be this for each other, and I am very lucky that mine is. And I will testify that there is little that compares to the relationship between a father and a son. I love you dad, and I thank you for choosing that truck on that day.

Son of Mr. Walking Wild

P.S. To the rest of my family, I cherish each and every one of you for all that you have been for me, and all that you have let me be for you.

No More Ditches (Changed a little from previous post)

Road ditches are surprisingly beautiful and occasionally trashy...like some of my past relationships.  In the late summer there are golden flowers, bright yellows, shades of purple and blue, some reds and bright whites.   Different shapes and different sizes.   Some spread wide open and others tightly closed around themselves.   Placed against the different shapes and sizes of green leaves it all becomes a mosaic.

I don't know the names of most of the flowers.    I have a mild curiosity but not a burning desire to know.   I have an appreciation for their beauty but more so I have a appreciation for the irony that all this beauty is in something called a ditch.   Ditch conjures up negative stuff like, "He was ditched by his wife."   Whenever I didn't study my parents reminded me that I would end up a 'ditch digger'.

I'm changing the name!    The strip of land on the edge of a road, formerly known as a ditch, will now be called a 'road border'.   "In the late summer the many flowers in bloom turned the road border into a stained glass museum."

"The speeding gravel truck late for work forced my dogs and I into the road border."

One of the biggest mistakes I make is not drinking enough...water that is.   Even on short walks I should drink right before and right after.  When I'm not handling dogs, I carry some with me.   On my long walks, I drive the route the night before and put down water bottles every few miles.   Hot water is better than no water.

WWW ( A revisit)

I find folks that talk constantly about their dogs to be unbearable bores.   I should know, I am one.   However, if anyone reading this information walks with a dog over 50 pounds, this might be interesting.    I walk two dogs that fit this category.   WWW.   Before Al Gore invented the internet, I used these initials to communicate 'Who's Walking Who'.

I believe I am on a walk and the dogs are allowed to come along.    My friend Caring Kim believes I take the dogs for a walk.   Best I can tell, the dogs believe they are on a daily adventure and I must be dragged along.   I'm usually in control unless a few things happen.   One event is when we meet up with other dogs both domestic and wild.   When it's the neighbor's dogs, a jump fest plays out that lasts a few minutes and then it's off down the road.   When it is a pack of wild dogs, I stop, turn directly toward home and quicken the pace.   The wild ones have circled a little but they have never come close enough to do any harm.

Then there is anything that flies or walks.     These will cause me to be dragged down the road.   This includes flying shadows.   WWW? A different answer for different occasions.  

Babbbling Brook and Feet (A rebabble)

Whoever coined the alliteration "babbling brook" ruined it for all writers that have followed.   There is no better way to describe a small fast moving stream of water.   I've tried and nothing compares.   It was genius.

I walk into a bottom each day.   At the very bottom, a stream follows a slough that cuts between two crop fields, travels under the road and continues to the east.   Before I ever see the stream I hear it.   Yes, I hear it babbling.   The sound brings me comfort and makes me smile because I can't describe it.

A reader suggests, "Don't think too much.  Walking should be liberating.  If I tried to remember and write down my wild thoughts it would become work."   My staff probably believes I spend my entire day not thinking much.    Thanks for the tip, however it's the writing that I find liberating.



Take care of your feet.   Socks with even the tiniest hole should be moved to the shoe shine drawer.   Find every opportunity to go barefoot to let them breathe and don't be afraid to rub a little lotion on them from time to time.   Even guys can do this without being thrown out of the club.   Even Larry the communicator thinks this is a good idea.

Moon Shadows and Breathing (Posted during a previous full moon)

When Cat Stevens sang about being followed by a moon shadow I didn't much consider how moon shadows would be any different than any other shadow.   I was wrong.   A full moon and a clear sky put on an amazing show.   You lose some stars during the light of a full moon but you gain the greatest shadows.   Kind of the yin and yang.    The slightly lit background outlines the shadow completely different than the sun during daylight.

When trees move gently in the wind, the tree's moon shadow grows and shrinks in unexplainable disproportion.  The shadow appears to be a disconnected creature.   Lurking in the shadows and silhouetted on the horizon are all sorts of imaginary creatures designed by the light of the moon.   I'm always excited about the amazing shadow figures that myself and two dogs on leashes create.   But then I'm still excited about hand shapes using a flashlight in my bedroom at night.

 Washington Irving must have been a walker.   This would explain why Ichabod Crane's imagination was so vivid.   I walk once or twice a week down a hollow.    When the light and the sky are just right, visions are always appearing, disappearing and reappearing in that hollow.    My friend Bullwinkle would tell you I sober up slow.

When I'm thinking, especially about shadows, I often forget to breathe.    Don't forget to breathe   Oh ya...try never to breathe in those swarming fleas.

Bugweiser (The Bugs are Back)

Mark Twain was right about a golf ball spoiling a good walk.   However, nothing ruins a walk for me faster than insects.   I know they are somehow part of the ecosystem but I find them bothersome.     When things annoy us we say they "bug us" because insects are called bugs.   At their best insects pollinate some stuff.   At their worst they carry Black Plague and Malaria.   I suppose maybe the butterfly has some redeeming qualities but certainly not the moth.

Do horse flies get their name because they pester horses' eyes or because they are nearly as big as a horse?   Daily, I walk past many an acre where horses pasture.    These flies are trained to only bite my legs and back.   I can't reach them on my back and when I swat them on my legs I trip myself with a dog leash and look like a combination of Chevy Chase and John Belushi.

There are two other flying pests worth mentioning.    The world famous mosquito, which in Iowa only seems to light on the back of a walkers neck and those damned swarming fleas which I always seem to breathe into my body before I realize the are in front of me.   We need less insects and more beer!

Recently, I came across a swarm of butterflies.   They began to land on my shirt.   It was annoying.

I have two choices.   Dress with long pants, long sleeve shirt with a turtle neck or spray everything with neet including the back of my shirt.   There is a third choice.   Become one with nature and learn to enjoy offering your body as a host.

Lost in B.F.K.

         I am happy to be back on this blog, especially to talk about something a little less traumatic, although nevertheless extreme. Most things in my life work in extremes, so it is no surprise that my walks would follow suit. Throughout the first semester last year, Solomon (my roommate and great friend) and I would plan walks on the Flint Hills Nature Trail here in Ottawa, KS. It is a really flat trail, but beautiful nonetheless. Throughout these walks, we dove into topics of interpersonal communication, theology, philosophy, and probably created our own ‘ologies. Solomon was a very driven guy, very much in shape except for working out the remains of knee surgery the summer prior. That being said, it didn’t take much convincing from me to get him to accompany me on a walk without a destination. The conversations took us where we were going to go. We started walking around 2:30. We decided that we would take the trail longer than ever before, and even veer off it to create our own path…some sort of philosophical metaphor that we thought should parallel actual life. We ended up walking for over ten hours…through the dark with no flashlights, and the rain with no ponchos. We had enough water to survive, and that was really all we cared about. We probably should have cared about more. Although the conversations throughout could fill up novels, the end result was merely worth it. We were lost on gravel roads in Kansas, foreign turf for the both of us, with nothing to predict where to go next. We walked circles, or gravel squares, many times. Every time we would see a lot of light, we swore it had to be Ottawa, and we took that as our compass. When we finally reached a town, we were all but rejoicing. Although it had its main street just like Ottawa, the building that included the post office, fire department, and town hall, told us we had missed the mark completely. Sore, soaked, tired, and hungry, we forfeited ourselves and called for a ride. Luckily, someone was able to figure out where we were and come get us. But not without the help of a navigational system. It took them over 30 minutes by car to get to us in Rantool, Kansas. I have no idea how many miles we walked, but my body knew. We didn’t move much that night, and for the next few days either. Our initial plan was philosophically adequate; to forget about the result and focus on each of the moments. Somewhat of an existential motive that I still try to hold in my everyday life. Living in the moment is great, but at some point in time one must survey their circumstances, and see if the moment is worth taking other moments. I have never really been very goal oriented, so I think this is a lesson for me to learn as well. Taking life as a series of interconnected moments is great, but have a plan, and have mental or physical checkpoints. Do this with walking and with life. This helps steer you clear of unnecessary pain, and most importantly, a soaking wet visit to Rantool.

Son of Mr. Walking Wild

P.S. If you have read any of my writings you know that I get wordy and drag things on sometimes. This particular event though, I could write a novel about. But being that this is a blog site I guess I can only leave but footnotes about one crazy walk.

My friend Carhartt Larry says, "Just because you are wandering aimlessly it doesn't mean you are lost"..er..something like that.

Mourning Doves and a Journal (Still in Mourning)

As the sun just so slightly begins to lighten the horizon, the first Mourning Dove is heard on my daily walk.   My dogs now ignore the sound.   The dove's name has nothing to do with me hearing them in the 'morning' (I hear them all day until it gets real dark). Their call has the sad sound of minor chords, like they are in 'mourning'.

I mention these birds because I doubt the wisdom of an Iowa hunting season for mourning doves. I never really see very many and when I do they are perched on power lines.    I can foresee on the first day of dove season half of Dallas County will be without power.

How much meat can you get from the breast's of one of these birds?   Actually, my friend Louisiana Bob used to make a mean dove breast gumbo.   In the South, dove season is pretty common.   The hunters follow a flock through picked fields in the Fall.   Personally, I'll just go buy a Cornish Hen...I'm a civilized killer.

A tip about adding value to your walk.   Keep a journal.   Use seven minutes of your day to write down how far you walked, the weather, and anything cool you experienced.   If you have a special experience send it to me.   You can be a guest blogger!

Horses ( A post from the past)

The part of Dallas County I live and walk in is gladly shared with horses. I can walk less than a mile and come across three different folks that raise horses, each with their own flair.

I share a fence with Doc and his wife. They raise two horses in the lap of luxury. They move in and out of three separate pastures and have a barn that resembles a doll house. These ponies remind me more of poodles...one even chases cars.

Another half-mile down the road is a horse raised much differently. She lives in a small trashed-out pasture that appears to be more a back yard. It is surrounded by temporary fence that has been there over 4 years. The barn is a dilapidated old one-car garage with a door swaying from one hinge. I call her a junkyard dog.

Toward the end of the mile are real horses. They graze in a proper pasture that is well fenced. The barn is large enough for the six horses and them some. There are proper corrals attached to the barn and tack is stored properly. When I walk by I feel like I'm in an episode of Wagon Train.   These are the greyhounds.

Postscript:

Since I first posted this piece, the greyhounds have left for Colorado and another mare has joined the junkyard.

City Folk and Walking Hills ( I liked this the first time)

I walk where I live and it's semi-remote. I tell my friends that I haven't peed indoors for over 15 years. However, each morning before dawn, as we shuffle down the gravel, there is an ever increasing strange glow in the horizon. I don't know if it's urban sprawl or suburban crawl or whatever, but it's getting larger and closer.

I really don't think about it much and I guess I'm willing to share the planet. The sprawl is not necessarily bad or good it just is. Actually, I think more about how in the world anybody can afford to pay that electric bill.

My friend The Commissioner calls me a depression baby.

Generally, I'm walking uphill or downhill. I prefer flat but I can't find much. I envy those folks that walk in flat circles at the Y but I can't bring my dogs to the gym 'cause the taste of lycra is much too rich for them.

It's best while walking uphill to stand tall and look down the road. Walking downhill is different. I let gravity be my friend and use as little energy as possible without turning into the Scarecrow from Oz.

Hiding from the Weather ( A repeat of a former problem)

Walking in the rain is over romanticized. My face is always wet and I can't see, with any breeze at all I chill, and my thighs provide a whole new meaning to road rash. When it rains we should stay indoors. Rain storms are why cavemen invented caves.

Walking in the snow is no better than the rain. I have the same set of problems with the addition of frozen nipples and no visibility to traffic. When it snows we should stay indoors. Snow storms are why the Sioux invented tepees.

I don't walk in the mud or when it's icy. Slip sliding away are Paul Simon lyrics not a physical challenge. When it is muddy and icy we should stay indoors. Mud and ice is why J.P. Morgan invented the mortgage.

This would be the appropriate time to give advice concerning dressing for Winter, Spring and Fall. It's simple...layers. You can always take off something and hang it on a fence post but you can't add a jacket once you are walking down the road. Aesop knew this 3000 years ago when he told the story of The North Wind and the Sun.

Birds (An earlier post by my youngest)

As a twenty-three year old, I haven’t come close to matching the distance my father has traveled; especially vehicle less. Unlike Mr. Villotti, I have no marathons, triathlons, or any other ‘lons to my name. Not to mention the thousands of miles he has walked throughout his sixty-one year life. Yeah, sorry dad, you probably didn’t think I was going to expose your age in this, did ya? Regardless, I do have one very memorable walk to my name. Last summer I was given the opportunity to visit the Orkney Islands of Scotland, and if you ever have the chance, visit these magnificent islands. Words do no justice to the hospitality of the people, and the endlessness of new experiences within the Orkney Islands. One of the days, the group I was with took us to the small Island of Hoy. I think the population was in the 50’s for the entire island. While everyone was eating their lunch, and peering at The Old Man of Hoy, I noticed my chance to escape. I wanted my own adventure…a unique adventure. It happened. As I snuck farther away from the group, the adrenaline inside me escalated. I was surrounded by land and ocean. There was not a person or a building in sight. There is no coincidence why my father writes about his walks, and why I remember every moment of mine so vividly; the isolation is a catalyst for the senses. Ask anyone who enjoys a good hike alone in nature, and they will most likely tell you that they can hear a twig fall about a mile away. Ask that same person to hand you a pencil at the office, and your words will fall to a deaf ear. Anyways, as I was on cloud nine with this unprecedented experience, I was being watched. Unlike people, animals don’t need a leisurely stroll in the woods to get the senses enhanced…they sensed me before I had any idea. Here is a list of what I knew about the Island of Hoy: it has no snakes, no large predators (besides humans), a lot of birds, and from the Old Man of Hoy and around to the ferry was about 7 miles. So I knew that I could make it to the ferry by sundown easily. Another thing I did hear about, but didn’t take too much interest in, was the fact that there were these birds that, when they felt their nest or themselves were in danger, would swoop down and peck humans in the head. One of my instructors had actually had it happen to her. Little did I know, my route was taking me straight through their breeding ground. When I saw the first huddle of three birds, I remembered the story about the repercussions of these specific birds feeling hostile. The Great Skua. The closer I got, the more “great” they became. These birds were enormous, and they will forever represent evil to me. Scattered throughout the next two hours of my hike were hundreds of Skuas. I wanted an adventure, and I got more. I honestly only thought there was going to be a couple hostile birds amongst the crowd…but I was wrong. I began to get swooped down on, each bird I felt intending to shred me and make a nice meal for their flock. Three was the most at one time, but one was enough to leave me nearly hoping I packed another pair of boxers in the bag. Some would swoop down and some would fly inches from the ground until they saw their shot at me. The only thing I could think of is to revert back to some sort of animalistic code that would tell them to get the hell away from me. So I began to make deep aggressive noises, while expanding my body to look as large and threatening as possible. Keep in mind, although this was the scariest moment of my life, if a camera would have captured this, I would be number one on Funniest Home Videos. So for about two hours I was dodging those birds as they reached out with their talons trying to get a piece of me. At one point I looked around me, in a moment of rest/trying not to puke, and around 25-30 birds had created a circle around me. They weren’t close, but I knew their speed, and it wasn’t going to take any of them very long to get to me. I truly believe that if I would have stopped to think about my circumstance, that I would still be on Hoy, curled up in a ball, calling for my mommy. But I just kept going and kept taking the next obstacle for what it was. I made it through the breeding ground without a scratch, although the birds definitely got their point across. And as I slowly made my way down a steep side of the mountain, which should have been the hardest part of the journey, I could only smile. I kept wondering to myself if anyone would ever believe me. I found out soon enough. After a pleasant encounter with man traveling from Germany, he guided me the rest of the way to the ferry’s dock…where my whole group had recently ended their hike through Hoy. They believed me, and we all had a pretty good laugh as I found out that Great Skuas only come to land to breed. So they were all pissed off at me. It’s funny to think about now, but I would be lying if I said I don’t flinch every time any bird swoops towards me. So I guess my advice to walkers comes through this; Scars, whether mental or physical, create memories…create stories…and fuel life. So walk, hike, run, bike, whatever you want…but you won’t get too many scars sitting on the couch. Keep walking everyone, especially you dad…I love you.

P.S. For anyone questioning why I was so afraid of this particular bird…go to Google and search Great Skua. Read about them, look at a few pictures…

Son of Mr. Walking Wild,

Johnny Villotti

Serenity and the Course ( An oldie but goodie)

The answer is...a complete sense of calm and a feeling of quiet emotions...serenity. The question is why I am hiking down dark country roads when most everyone else is turning their pillow in readiness for the last two hours of sleep. Or maybe the answer lies in the wrestling match on my belly at 4:00 o'clock each morning between my two dogs. I prefer to think I would get up for the walk without my wake up call.

Usually, as we make our way along the road, the sights and sounds of the wild are everywhere. However, occasionally, and I have no way to predict when, a slight, quiet breeze comes from the south and everything is still and quiet. It's a deep quiet that exaggerates any sound. The only sounds I hear are from the threesome traveling down the road. The sound of each of my steps is a jackhammer hitting the gravel. The easy panting of Patience and Violet are dual locomotives charging down the track.

I love nature but I am fueled by the serenity days. Of course this all comes to a halt near the end of our walk when we are scared to the ditch by a gravel truck late for work.

Today's tip is picking a walking course. The choices are pretty much loop or out-and-back, unless you are doing some elaborate drop off or pick up thing. My advice is diversity.   Some may like the comfort of routine, the security blanket route, but I believe altering the course each day, even if by a few hundred feet, is good for the mind, body and soul.

And as my friend Larry the Communicator would say, that's what I know about that!

Owls and Sneakers (A repeat of a cool blog.)

The creature that most perplexes my two dogs is the Hoot Owl. Some call it a Barred Owl but the neighbor boy calls it a Hoot Owl and he should know cause he wears a lot of camouflage. My dogs get walking between two owls calling, they snap their heads back and forth and just can't figure out what to chase.

There are some of rural legends about these birds that I can't understand. When woodsy DNR officers take tour groups owl calling they tell everyone to wear dark clothing and to be very quiet as they walk like an Iroquois hunter through the woods. Then the officer goes off by himself and does his eight syllable call. I've been in these groups and never heard an owl call back. My personal experience is that I have been cutting wood with a noisy chainsaw an hour before dark and heard them hooting back and forth nonstop. I don't believe a horny owl gives a darn about what's happening on the ground.

Then there is that thing about owls only being out at night. Well if they wake up in an amorous mood and it is light, they will call for a friend with benefits.

It is very true that a human can not hear an owl fly. But if my dogs and I are walking in the early morning and it is pitch black with just a sliver of a moon, we always sense when an owl has swooped near us. There...that's my rural legend.

Today's tip is about shoes. There is lots of advice about this, most of it distributed by shoe companies or by folks sponsored by shoe companies. I weigh in on my country boy side. I buy two pair of sneakers for 50 bucks a piece and wear one every other day. When I start feeling the rocks from the gravel road I know it's time to reinvest. Patience and Violet prefer to go barefooted.

Dumb Deer and the Right Clothes (A repeat of a blog gone by)

I'm surprised that the deer population is as high as it is. A doe is one of the dumbest animals in the wild. Each morning, two excited dogs and a shuffling old man come close enough to spit on female deer. When these feeble-minded creatures do become concerned and decide to move, it is generally at a slow prance. If I were a poacher or a wild cat I could get my fill each day.

As it turns out I'm neither so I just end up with elongated arms from holding on to two excited dogs that feature themselves as mighty hunters. Truth be known if the deer would ever turn and snort I would be elongated in another direction...the dogs are not brave hunters.

It's different for the male deer. The bucks in Dallas County stay invisible or visible only from a distance, much like my neighbors.

Today's walking tip is on clothing. I have a lot of ideas but no expertise on this topic. Most folks would share that I have no idea how to dress. That's not so. My taste is just confused between a Pennsylvania street punk and an Iowa country boy.

Anyway, folks in the know are always telling walkers to wear light colored clothing so they can be easily seen. That's OK advice if the background is a dark screen. What if I'm walking in a snow storm or in front of a patch of Queen Anne's Lace?    Personally, I wear a combination of white and colored clothing. I think that makes me stand out from the ditches and the limestone gravel road.

I don't know if any of this is right so I have a back up plan. I wear a flashing red light. I know this works cause it freaks out the farmer down the lane when he is out in his underwear getting his newspaper.