It feels like for as long as I have been a mother, I have attempted to remain solid one thing and one thing only: The morning walk. I waver on many a things, but this one, this one I find helps the day tremendously, and always has. Even when I had only Miles, and he was a mere one year old, we would take the trek around the block, as long as that would take, the morning activity was precisely the way to start the day. And now, with three wild boys streaming out in front of me as they gather speed down our steep drive, it is more vital than ever.
More often than not, our walks end in a little fire. Something to focus on. Something to work on together. Sometimes it feels like for the rest of the day, they are at each others throats, but for the duration of the tinder box making, the birch bark gathering, the tiny dry twig stacking, they remain chums, partners in an activity that is real beyond real. Fire. It is a powerfully potent medicine, calming even the worst cases of sibling spats.
Sometimes we read stories by the fire, sometimes we tell them, sometimes we just listen to the wide world around us; Which also happens to be the one and only likely chunk of silence in my day, from dawn till dusk at times. I soak it up. I store it in my chest and in that tight spot right behind my eyes and then breathe it into my lungs when it feels like seven o clock is a year away.
We find treasures, make discoveries, greet cows and neighbors, and eat trail snacks. It is an hour of bliss, if I can just get them out the door. If I can just get me out the door really. Get up and go. Don’t slow down. Get dressed, food in belly, teeth brushed, beds made, now go, go quickly, before something draws us in, before something distracts us long enough to make us forget to get out there. To just go. Go and walk, and see what the day will bring.