A Short Walk of Hope

Yesterday I took a walk; a short warmup before addressing the garden tasks waiting for me. I walked around four blocks in my neighborhood. An ordinary morning walk but one that turned out to be extraordinary. For it became a walk of hope and healing, a journey of promise.

I passed a house displaying a notice about an upcoming fundraiser for people with disabilities. That house led to another with a Black Lives Matter yard sign. Walking along by front yards filled with pollinator plants; goldenrod, coneflowers and bee balm; shade-loving ground covers with hummingbird feeders hanging on front porches, I was delighted to find so many householders caring for the butterflies, bees and birds. Across the way I noticed a Black Earth Compost bin at the end of one driveway, finding once more there are folks in the neighborhood who care about our environment by putting food waste to re-use as natural fertilizer. And noticing that an inventive resident had attached a thick strap to the bin handle in order to wheel it out to the curb. I realized that I could do the same, having stopped composting due to a back that can no longer lift heavy objects. Next, circumventing a lush, overgrown  shrub which spilled onto the sidewalk, I saw across the street a front yard with about a dozen children’s bicycles, There was a sign on a sandwich board at the end of the driveway. A man was walking to his car from behind that house and, curious (or perhaps nosy!?) I asked him what was going on. He explained that it was a home-grown camp which a high school teen, now a college student, had started for neighborhood kids, charging a minimal fee to cover snacks and crafting supplies. In addition to crafts and backyard games (I imagined egg and spoon races, corn hole and water ballon toss), they also made use of the elementary school playground nearby.

Continuing on, I passed a house with a Save the Pond sign and one calling for No King. By now I was walking along the busy main street. It was evident that there was an informal agreement among the neighbors about the nature strip between the street and the sidewalk since, in front of every house were native plants and weeds (otherwise known as wildflowers), instead of yet more grass that needing mowing. Trees occupied these street-side plots as well, absorbing vehicle emissions, giving back cleaner air. There was a “little library”, a small box not much bigger that a birdhouse with a glass door holding free books for passersby to drop and swap. Farther on was the “real” public library.  It too was graced with ground cover and native perennials, as well as a large whiteboard near the entrance with a daily poem, and boxes with supplies for crafts; magazines there for the taking, benches for resting and reading.

I had returned to my starting point, my church home for the past 55 years; a building where all are welcome to enter and participate, which also houses a thriving music conservatory. It is a building with large metal structures in the yard, looking like they had just walked off the set of Star Wars, but which are actually integral to the newly completed conversion from fossil fuels to air sourced heat pumps. Colorful diversity flags rippled in the breeze, around the corner by the front door a raised planter   invites any and all to plant, weed or harvest.  Beyond the door and stretching back to a labyrinth is the Welcome Garden, often used for worship and celebration, meetings or simply a spot to rest, eat lunch, and take a peaceful break on a busy day.   Yesterday, I returned to find young parents with their toddlers gathered for story-time, hosted by the library across the street.

On a day like so many others, when the news is all about suspicion, disaster, war, cynicism, oppression and outright danger, I had simply decided to take what I expected to be a short morning walk. Now I know that there was nothing simple about it. In fact, I had gone on a pilgrimage: a pilgrimage of hope; a journey of inspiration and gratitude. A reminder that, not only does it take a village to raise and nurture new beginnings, but also a reminder that there are people right next door or down the street that are planting the seeds of a better world, growing promises for a healthier and safer home. Here, in one small neighborhood in one small village, I had encountered the generosity of a teenager giving back to their community, gardeners who put wild things first, who let wild plants grow within and among the flowers, reducing grass that needs mowing and eliminating noisy and polluting leaf blowers. I saw invitations to raise funds for some of our differently abled citizens, yards signs that announce respect for marginalized communities, poems that inspire readers. Little and big free libraries, a building that houses music, establishes community, encourages and inspires faith, hope and love. I saw signs of thoughtful land stewardship, of reducing waste, of welcoming birds, butterflies, and the bees who are as much our neighbors as the folks next door.

Do you live in a village like mine? Or are you perhaps in a big city? In a wild wooded place, near the mountains or a lake or by the shore?

Wherever you are and whatever your body can or cannot do, head outside, walk or bike or roll or drive (very slowly) and notice. Where you choose to go might be very familiar. If so, take your time, be open to what you have never really noticed before. Or you could choose to explore somewhere new.  Wherever you go or however you experience the world, whether by sight, sound, scent, touch or taste, believe you are on a path of discovery. Recognize that even on the shortest journey you might find solace; evidence that hope still flourishes in our world.