A WALKERS REFLECTIONS

It is six oclock in the morning. The sun has not yet shown its shining face over the highest point of Lewis Peak, the mountain whose benchland we lived on in Utah. By this time I was all the way along Polk street and headed down the walking path that ran between the Ogden River and the Dinosaur Park. The walking traffic was at its peak a little later. I could stride out at my usual fast pace without slowing down for the walkers who came in clusters or the stray bicycle. This was the perfect time of day. The air was crisp, with just a little warmth in the breeze that drifted out of the sunlit canyon. It was this time of day I loved to walk the cobwebs out of my mind and think about what I was going to do with the day ahead. At this time of which I speak the Walkman played tapes and I had a large collection from which to choose - Frank Sinatra, his voice crooning a sultry love song, or a string quartette interpreting a Mozart Concerti to which I must step lively. Or I might listen to something in between these two depending on my mood. The river played over pebbles and fallen limbs from overhanging Willows, splashing a melody of its own. I didn't always need to click on the Walkman for companionship, I could listen to the river. Sometimes a very early fisherman could be seen hunched on the rocks that ran out into the water, his fishing rod bobbing idly hoping that a small trout might swim his way and snag the worm. In minutes the fish could be sizzling in a hot frying pan providing a hearty riverside breakfast. I walked briskly. My mother once told me that the neighbors liked to watch me coming down the street when I was about eight or nine years old, my head and shoulders pushed out in front of me, my feet pumping away like Lewis Carroll's scurrying rabbit - heading somewhere in a hurry. That was the pace I loved the best. Only age and an unfortunate accident to my left foot slowed me down at all. One morning as I was walking along the river path, my ear plugs hanging from the Walkman hugging my waist, I heard a roar at close range and I jumped, startled by this unfamiliar animal sound, I glanced warily to my left and saw the fearsome head of Dinosaur gazing at me over the tops of the trees. If I had not been through the newly opened Dinosaur Park a week or two before I may have jumped into the river. The Park was full of these prehistoric creatures, all equipped with authentic sounds and in the environment they were to have believed to have lived in. However, even knowing this, it had an instant frightening effect on a lone walker early in the morning and THAT dinosaur was gazing at ME while he roared. Someone must have left the tapes on because my journey alongside the Park that morning was filled with with such believable noises that ones instincts were to set a rapid flight in the opposite direction. When I worked on the Switchboard at the State Highway Department, District Three Office in Tumwater, near Olympia, Washington - not being a Coffee drinker. I would walk on my 'rest breaks'. One afternoon I was stopped by a four year old boy and his dog- a handsome brown and gold 'mutt'. He informed me that his dog's name was 'Rusty: I told him that I had a dog by the same name. The next question he posed was, "Does your dog have babies in his stomach?" I replied , "No, my Rusty is a different kind of a dog." I offered the most meager information hoping that I was not getting myself into a difficult position where I might be asked to explain how they, the puppies, got there. However, he simply beamed at me and declared with much pride, - "Well mine has." I offered my congratulations and we discussed briefly the possibility of boy or girl puppies and just when they might be expected to arrive. As I left this wise and informed four year old, I thought how marvelous the simple things of life are. Too often in this fast paced world we miss the little, unobtrusive events in our daily lives that are truly meaningful and search for the spectacular, the sort of things that "stir up the blood" causing us to miss the subtleties. I had come to the end of the block and knew that I must use my fastest pace to get back to the office by the end of my break. I felt I had been rewarded in my afternoons walk. The little boy had informed me that he would watch for me on my walks and let me know about the puppies. In turn I had something to look forward to each day on my walk, to the event of a birth, a litter of round, fat puppies. This was such an occasion in a child's life but one we could share in and be a child again for just a little while. time is so precious. What fills it is equally so. I recall the story of a farmer who plowed around a rock in one of his fields for five years because he felt he couldn't spare the time it would take to pry and dig up this great rock. He was afraid of breaking any more mowing machine knives against it. He left the rock alone so that patch of land was unyielding in crop value. One day the farmer thought that he might break his cultivator against it as he plowed, so he took a crow bar and poked around it. Much to his surprise he found that it was actually little more than two feet long and standing on edge. It was as light as a feather and he could lift it into his wagon without help. It only looked like a large rock sticking up in the soil. The way I see it we need to take more time to investigate what is worthwhile in life as we live it day by day. The farmer let the land lay becaause he didn't have his priorities straight. He didn't percieve that it would be worth the time to investigate the task involved in removing the rock. If he had he would have benefited financially over the five years. He wouldn't have done all that worrying about breaking his machines. There would not have been the exasperation it caused him to think about that unyielding patch of field. This subject of time was brought to mind on this particular walk as I thought about the importance of time each day. I was a working mother so utilizing time was a priority in my daily life. I didn't wish to miss any of the precious moments with my children if I could help it. I don't think of myself as old but the years have passed and piled up. I have been forced to make some unwanted changes. I can no longer walk briskly and some inclines can be challenging. Instead I remember the joys of walking when it was taken for granted as a daily occurrence in every kind of weather. Memories of the small, unobtrusive events I have experienced in more than eighty years of a serious, brisk walking practice. If my left foot has not been broken, changing the patterns of my life, I would still be stretching my legs on a morning walk. However, there is always the chance in my trots to the mail-boxes, that I will come across a child with something to tell me, or see a 'make believe' dinosaur peeking at me from behing a hedge.