I took a walk one fine day recently, looking around, people-watching, enjoying myself, feeling the sun warm on my shoulders.
Almost immediately, a young couple crossed my path. She was pregnant, and both were dressed in buckskin-colored casual wear, like twins. Talking and laughing, they had eyes only for each other, and even in their walk they mirrored each other – confident long strides, and an athlete’s swagger. Very symbolic of Durango.
Then I saw a Dad, biking with his young son. When Dad looked back and saw his son had gotten kind of messed up and was wobbly, the Dad was so cool. He went back and helped him out in a way that made it no big deal, just an easy fix for his son to learn. I loved that Dad.
A short while, and two women passed me by and walked directly ahead – a young woman and her mother, who was Grandma to an almost 1-year-old little girl she held in her arms.
The mom was busy. In addition to a backpack, she was carrying a large tote bag decorated with cartoon animals and filled with, I imagined, items like a change of clothes, a small apple juice, a blanket. She was absentmindedly pushing an empty stroller ahead of her, and was intent on her cellphone. I surmised from her tone of voice as it drifted back toward me that she was making business calls.
The little one was held close by her grandmother, so she could look over Grandma’s shoulder. She was quiet, alert to everything.
Grandma? She could not stop beaming, as she looked at her beautiful granddaughter in her pretty blue bonnet and created a melodic commentary for her: “Look! Those yellow flowers! They’re called daffodils!” “Oh, way down there – see? There’s the place we’re going where you can play.” “And look there in the street, by the red light. Oh, what a big car. That’s a policeman’s big car. They can always help us if we need help.”
She hummed, blissful, smiling as one in love does, hugging the child close, smoothing her hair, straightening her bonnet, kissing her forehead; and all the while Grandma kept up her chatter.
I’m a word person, and couldn’t help but be intrigued. Grandma knew instinctively it is good to talk to her granddaughter and good to use words to express comparatives (one car is bigger than another) and offer details of color (the daffodils are yellow and the light is red), and so on. In addition to lavishing love on her granddaughter with that flood of talk, she’s helping, in a natural way, to prepare the little girl for her utterly astounding next landmark achievement after walking – the acquisition of language. The rhythms of speech and the word choices that grandma made support that, and, for that matter, so does the businesslike vocabulary and vocal tone in mom’s conversation.
Walking does appear to be an elixir of sorts. Spend time outdoors, walking or otherwise engaging with nature and you’ll be the better for it. You’ll lower your stress level. You’ll find yourself feeling kinder and more generous. Resilient in adversity. Happier. Wiser. Healthier. So the research suggests.
I slowly lost sight of the Durangoans I’d noticed that day, but I carry a memory of those three generations of lovely people – the expectant parents, the son with his dad, the little one with grandma and mom. I picture them all walking in the midst of a beautiful, sun-filled landscape, part of a healthy ecosystem.
Yes, walking together. And … did you notice, too? … talking together.
Jo Gibson is a former English department adjunct faculty member at Cleveland State University and a freelance writer with the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
