Most mornings I will put the baby in her stroller, and the three year old and I will go for a walk. He has learned to put his own shoes and socks on, grab his mask and helmet to meet me outside by the shed where he will grab his Skut bike. Off we will go- him pushing along on his bike and me following with the baby. The baby will only nap for me in her stroller, so the incentive for these daily walks is great, even aside from the lure of fresh air and physical activity.
These days, we are well into fall. The weather has been cooler.
Because we go for a walk almost every day, I am noticing how gradual and varied the changing of the leaves is. Usually I am deep into production this time of year and I look up one day and the trees are ablaze with colour, and when I next look up the trees are bare. The current daily excursions have forced me to see how incrementally things change, and how each tree moves at its own pace. There are trees that have dropped almost all of their golden and red leaves and there are trees that are still green with maybe the faintest hint of red on a few leaf tips.
The going is slow. There are many stops along the way to look at this patch or dirt or that bunch of sticks. To gaze at the light filtering through the leaves. To periodically pull the mask down and breathe. Also the three year old has this endearing routine where he stops at a driveway, turns his skut bike, and backs into the drive while going, “beep, beep, beep.” Sometimes he does this with every drive way on our walk.
The other day a heavy mist had settled over everything, giving the morning a strangely cozy air, despite the damp that hung in the air. We pass by one tree that has deposited a magnificent thick carpet of gold and orange on the ground. I’ve always loved the sound of walking through fallen leaves. I even purposely scuff my feet through them to make that crisp crunch and rustle sound.
Halloween decorations are out full force. The neighborhood tends towards macabre decorations. Graveyards and skeletons abound. Spiders too. The eight year old has always wanted to decorate for Halloween, and this year the Halloween discounts were pretty steep even at the beginning of the month so I picked up some candy corn lights and black cheese cloth while at the craft store. It doesn’t make for all out Halloween extravaganza, but it will be a little something.
The park down the road is under construction. Earlier this year, we had come to the park only to find the playground fenced in and the play structures gone. They are putting in new equipment, and we’ve enjoyed watching everything being built from the ground up. I am particularly excited about this strange swing that looks like two people can use at once- a bucket swing and a standing swing linked together.
At the park, we usually stop for a while. The baby is usually asleep by now. I sit on a bench and read my book, and the three year old scoots around- watching the construction vehicles building the playground (“Look, Mama! Diggers!), chasing squirrels on his bike, riding lazy circles up and down the small hills.
Eventually he rolls back to where I am sitting.
“Can you set your alarm for ten minutes?” he says.
Sometimes I cheat and set it for more so I can squeeze in a little more reading. Or sometimes, truth be told, scrolling.
When the alarm goes off, we start heading home.
We pass houses with Biden/Harris signs standing amid cobwebs and ghostly tatters of fabric draped from trees.
We collect some leaves and later in the afternoon make some leaf rubbings.
Finally we arrive back home. All told we usually walk for an hour and a half. The three year old puts his Skuut bike back into the shed, backing it in while going “Beep, beep, beep.”
