Notes From the Walking Path

(weekly newsletter: No. 4)

"Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again” — C.S. Lewis

Hello Dear Friends, 

The tiny town we call home, here in Georgia, has the most wonder-filled, half-mile-long walking trail that leads from one end of town to the other, alongside the sometimes quiet—but more often than not busy—two-lane highway, just across the way from Willow House.  

The path is generously lined with sturdy lamp posts—all along the way—and each post’s lamp turns off with the morning sun, and then back on again beneath dusky skies each evening.

Many of these lamp posts now wear their own lovely little Nature-badges-of-honor (that upon closer inspection, look an awful lot like lichens and mosses growing among the posts’ most shady spots)...

And I cannot help but think of Narnia, each time I pass them by. 

Along both sides of the sometimes narrow trail, and between each of the old lamp posts, grow the most beautiful gatherings of trees.

On cool morning rambles, there’s ever-so-much magic to be found, amidst dappled light filtering in through lush green Maples, and whimsical Crepe myrtles.

And on warm August days, like these, an ever-welcoming cool awaits us beneath the shade of glossy, dark-green Magnolia leaves and prickly-leafed Holly trees alike, many of which ever-so-kindly dip their leaf-laden branches down over the path in spots.

Countless rose bushes thrive, in a happy little hedgerow, between the well-trodden path and the road, and a handful of perfectly placed benches welcome us to slow down and enjoy the many wonderous sights and sounds along the way. (oh, friends, I confess, the wonders are many!)

Resting between a stand of trees, somewhere round the half-way point in the trail—and because one can never have enough places to just sit and think a while—a long, narrow, wooden bench awaits us beneath the shelter of the beautiful old Gazebo.

Here, many wonder-filled books have been read-aloud, plentiful picnics of tea and muffins, fresh fruit and luncheon meats (and one mustn’t forget the crisps!) have been shared, and a good-many day-dreamy dances have played out, all across the wood-slatted floor below.  

Off to the other side, at the far end of the path, within plain view of our front windows—again from across the way—a well-loved park-playground is set beside the wide-roof and open walls of an old Pavilion.

Together they are co-keepers of memories; from ever-so-many years worth of community gatherings held, birthday celebrations shared, and live music played (each October at our tiny town’s Fall Festival, The Concord Jubilee). 

Just opposite the path, from us, a short main street has been long-rooted between well-tended grassy fields, a few small streets (that weave their way around the town) and is home to a handful of buildings.

On one end, the beautiful old brickwork Strickland Building—that was once a thriving old mercantile—now serves as a lovely local events center.

Next door, The Woodyard—a small business boasting a gorgeous array of exotic woods and goods—draws clever-minded folks from many miles away.

Down the way, the beautifully re-imagined Concord Cafe—which until just a few years ago had been our tiny town’s beloved old cafeteria style restaurant—now serves as a welcoming place and space, featuring wonderful coffee-roasts and cuisine, live music, and lots of smalltown charm.

It’s true there may sometimes be an empty building (or two?) along the way, but alas a small brick-clad building houses our City Hall, and our local United States Post Office completes our small town tour, at the end of the road.

All of this just a few short blocks from home. 

---

Friends, each time I walk this now-familiar path, I am reminded that eight years have passed since we chose to trade our adventurous life back-home on the beautiful Oregon Coast, for this rambling old Willow House, and tiny permaculture farm, we call home.

And when I think about how much our family (and pretty much life in general) has changed in such a small span of time, I feel an absolute whirlwind of emotions wash over me. 

Even so, when I look at the much bigger story of how we ended up here—not to mention, how we’ve learned to fit into these beautiful places and spaces—I can't help but feel deeply grateful that our journey has inevitably brought us home.

I share this because with the many challenges we’re currently facing as my former-partner (of more than 30 years) and I navigate separation and divorce—as two neurodivergent co-parents, raising a neurodivergent young one together—it’s not hard to lose sight of what’s right in front of us. 

In fact, most days it would be easy to let the difficulties of this life cloud our paths, leading us to only focus on our problems, and missing out on the beauty all around us.

But quite simply put, that’s just never been the kind of story that I wish to live out!

And so, as late-August mornings arrive upon cooler breezes (than mere days before) and butterflies and birds alike dot the landscape of the skies above, as Nature goes about the busy-work of preparing for Autumn, and we keep watch with each new day for yet another handful of fresh figs to ripen among the branches of Indie’s tree, beside the Fairy Gardens out back…

With a handful of new sunrises each week, we pour generous cups of tea and pack our field guides (and snacks) in the dinosaur backpack Indie Blue treasures most.

And we set out on a slow morning’s walk, up the road, past a verdant field and towering trees, turning right between the churches, to cross the highway to the trail.

When we come to the walking path (depending on the day, and mood) we choose which way we’ll go, and off we tread together to explore all the wild wonders we can spy along the way. 

Because the tiny town we call home has the most wonder-filled, half-mile-long walking trail leading from one end of town to the other.

And we’ve long-since learned that no matter which way we choose to go—

The path before us has the most magical way of helping us to remember who we are, and why we’re here. And with ever-so-much wonder to be found this lovely little path always manages to point us toward what matters most, as it leads our way back home.