I walk a lot, at the average rate of 4 MPH, for exercise and because it’s beneficial for a desk jockey like me to get outdoors and engage with both civilization (aka, dogs) and nature (trees, grass and sky). The majority of my walks are around the neighborhood, two and a half to three-mile variations that frequently circle Pioneer Park. The final leg is what I call walking home. Though I pass houses, schools, ball fields and, this month, Halloween yard decorations in southeast Walla Walla, what my heart sees is the last few blocks of Lawrence Street, the turn onto Monroe, and a sharp left uphill to the end of Port Townsend’s Clay Street.
Hey, wait a minute, that’s where I live!
That’s the place, 9. All those years of walking home from school- -the downhill grade, text books propped on my hip in a time before kids universally used backpacks. Up the potholed driveway to Mom and Dad’s Victorian-era saltbox house when it still had gray painted siding. But this is what my eyes see:
Walking home in actual fact: My house in Walla Walla.
Strangely, when I’m visiting in Port Townsend and walking my childhood “home from school” route, I do not have the feeling of walking home. My eyes look for what was, but when I see new densely-packed houses, different businesses uptown and city bus shelters, it short-circuits that memory in my heart. Even the house’s exterior is different. It’s been shingled for over 30 years.
Walking home to the past, but it doesn’t look like the memory: Mom’s house in Port Townsend.
I’ve never thought of you as being slow, but I may revise my opinion.
And I’ll ignore that remark, Lily. Admit it, you are picturing your carefully decorated room with the white curlicue iron headboard, the mod flower-print bedspread in electric blue, lime green and white. That is long gone, my friend!
All I can conclude is that walking home for me (possibly for all of us?) is a mixture of memory and reality, a blend of two kinds of homecoming. Real world bonus: here, there’s a cat waiting for me.
Walking home, to see my buddy Hoosegow!
I enjoyed your walk down memory lane…pun intended…These old house/home memories are bittersweet for me. Some of my favorite homes have been torn down and replaced. Love the welcome home kitty!
Thank you, Betty. These days, I figure home is where my feline friend is!