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.