Searching for Sabbath

I love to walk. I don't enjoy running or biking so much, but, especially when I don't have anywhere particular to be nor any specific time to be there, I love to simply go. 

I used to live next to 50-acres of, as they say here in Iowa, timber. Everyday that I could, I would go out there and walk that land. It was rough land, and a person could easily get stuck in knee-deep black mud, slip on frozen cheatgrass or fall face first into a bramble bed at the bottom of a rocky ravine. 

I would see deer, elk, and large birds of prey; red-wing blackbirds, chukars, and the occasional pheasant. There was always a smell of sagebrush, even on crisp winter days where breathing felt like fire was burning in my lungs.

Walking there was a kind of Sabbath for me. Stillness of mind; quietness of heart; beauty and a solitude that was never lonely. The walking there was treacherous, so I had to pay attention. The ways up and the ways down took navigation and intention. If I committed to a path across the bottom, there was no easy revision, no cut across, shortened path to return. It was either go all the way or turn around now and reexamine the steps I had already taken.

I have found a few places like that one here in Iowa. One is McFarland Park in Ames. Another is the Lime Creek Nature Center in Mason City. 

The only downside is that the dog has to be on a leash, and the walker needs to stay on the trail. Somehow, these tiny little restraints cut into the Sabbath feel of it. Somehow, there is not an openness of path-the decisions are broken into left/right forks in the mowed grass- rather than myriad meandering options cut through brush and across ankle-deep streams. There is the sense, the worry, the concern for others present and the need to make sure my little one's muddy paws don't interrupt their Sunday stroll.  

I have been truly enjoying the trail system here in Iowa City. There are great paths in so many places and walking or riding a bike are easy to do. I see all kinds of people out running, doing errands, or with their dogs enjoying the outdoors and the exercise. The dog parks are a true blessing, and Cyrus loves to go, but I am wistful for the Sabbath space. I miss being a creature among creatures in land that is so busy being itself it doesn't even notice that I am there. 

What about you? Where do you go for that silent stillness? Where do you find peace and rest in the midst of your life? What are the ways you lose yourself in beauty such that you find a revised perspective on the size and scope of your place in this time you have in the world? Is it in open spaces, or is it among friends? Is it in walking, running, biking, or is it in knitting, rocking, reading? 

Meanwhile, I will keep walking Iowa City, learning its paths and trails, and searching out its Sabbath spaces.

The Times, They Are A-Changin"

I actually made my walking goal of ~3 miles. The puppy was truly grateful. My legs, not so much. I decided to take the always turn left approach to the walk until I topped N. Westminster St. and the right turn option seemed the best. I walked a well-maintained neighborhood of condominiums. 

I walked up a street with truly spectacular homes. Each one was large, with gorgeous back yards and most of them were unique and eye-catching in some way. Wandering further up the streets, I started to enter an area of new construction. New neighbors. New people moving in. 

 These homes are raw and unformed still. They are waiting to become some kind of new neighborhood. My walk was quiet until I emerged onto N. Scott Blvd. Along N. Scott Blvd., I saw apartments and duplexes.

This walk was a study in how neighborhoods are not uniform. There are many ways of creating living spaces. Sometimes people share walls and pay collectively for yard maintenance and sidewalk snow removal. Sometimes, people invest in architecture and landscaping to create highly personal spaces of retreat, sanctuary, and family gathering.

There was so much construction and new development along my walk, I wonder if there have been growing pains. I can remember the development that happened near my own childhood home-trees yanked out, small farms replaced with tracts of 10 or so small family homes, a small mountain literally leveled to make room for a 747 runway.

These kinds of makeovers can be painful, and it is hard to make room for newcomers or to feel like sharing with people whose homes and lifestyle have replaced the pathways and secret places of childhood.

As I walked, blessing ran through my mind. "May your homes live up to your dreams. May your dreams bless others, and may strangers find ways to become neighbors despite change."

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