The Power of Prairie Walks

I had a completely free day.  It felt strange, and I took a whole hour or so to settle on what I wanted to do.  Which was go back to the same prairie I've already hiked.  Really?  You've seen one prairie, you've seen them all, right?  But this time, I would be alone.  Being single, with grown children living far away, would make one think I have lots of alone time (and, yes, I have infinitely more alone time than a lot of people), but somehow I always find myself craving REALLY alone time.  You know--those rare periods when you can let go of the clock and people and stuff and think of nothing but whatever your mind leads you to, for as long as you can stand it.  It turns out a 4.4 mile prairie hike over 3 hours was about it for me.

There were quite a few cars in the parking area when I arrived at the prairie.  Great, I thought.  No alone time here. The first half-mile or so is mostly uphill, so I didn't really have the energy to fuss about the crowd.  I took my time, tried to focus on only what was in front of my face, and paced my breathing.  And had too many weird conversations in my head with people who weren't there.  Stop, Kitra.  Let go, just get to the top.  An older couple was there, taking in the view.  I let them get ahead of me quite a ways before I started on again. The next half mile was full of young families coming the wrong way down the trail (I don't know that there really is a wrong way, but isn't counter-clockwise just against the rules)?  Anyway, everyone had to jostle and step just off the trail to let folks pass.  

I continued on, and my mind slowly started to let go.  I stopped, several times, and just looked. Breathed.  Took more pictures.  Listened.  Then moved on down the trail.  The sun was warm on my shoulders, and I was glad I'd grabbed my straw hat for cover.  My new stainless steel, bpa-free water bottle clanked in my backpack.  Note for next time--no ice.  Plan ahead, fill with water, and refrigerate. Voila.  

The trail diverges, and Robert Frost must have been with me, because I took the one less traveled, which turned out to be the best decision I'd made in days.  The trail was completely deserted, except for me. As I walked, slightly worried that I might get a sunburn or poison ivy, the whiny conversations in my head started to move somewhere else.  There were still conversations, but they were with myself.  The self that is always there, but sometimes gets buried beneath fears and self-judgement.  I found myself actually seeing and appreciating what was in front of me.  And smiling.  It felt good.  

I realized I was hungry, and started looking for a shady spot on the trail to sit and eat the cheese and tomatoes I'd brought.  I plopped down on the gravel trail, and worked through my stash, hurrying a little at the end because I thought I heard voices from behind me on the trail. I realized I didn't want my solitude to end.  I moved onward, then, through the woods, enjoying the shade and noticing small things, like the tiny lizards that skittered across the trail and back into the grass.  And that's when I realized I was OK again.  The conversations in my head had stopped, or at least faded quietly away into the background, and I was ready to be done.  My pace quickened, as I knew I was close to the end of the trail, which also meant I ran into a whole lot of people again.  But I was smiling at them this time, and saying hello, because I was completely happy to be where I was, right then, at that moment.    

August Prairie Walk