This morning I went out for my long walk in preparation for the 10 mile race coming up in a couple of weeks.  The plan was to do 8 miles; my favorite hilly 4 mile loop and then a less hilly 4 mile out and back.  The plan changed during the first mile when I had to pass a recently squished groundhog.  To avoid having to pass that groundhog three times I decided to do the first 3 miles of my favorite hilly 4 mile loop, then turn around and do 2 of those miles in the other direction, add a different 2.5 out and back and then head for home, holding my breath when I passed said deceased groundhog while looking studiously the other way.  Good plan.

Since I wasn’t going to carry a camera I thought I’d share my walk with you through the sounds I heard along the way.  Think of this as an audio nature report.  You get to add the visual through your own imagination.  You’re welcome to come along:

Early in the walk I am amused by the sounds of brown squirrels barking angrily at me from high up in massive old oaks and tall hickory trees.  Then, while I am focusing on the trees, trying to find the squirrels, there comes a startling rustle from the tall grass near the edge of the road.   About 6 inches from my left foot!   A very much alive groundhog hustles for safety under cover of the grass to his drain pipe underneath a driveway.  And before I can recover from that a loud swooshing noise makes me literally jump as hundreds of blackbirds sweep up and out of the trees overhead, then swarm around and land, only to sweep up into the sky over and over.  The sound is amazing and indescribable.

Chugging up a hill I tried to keep my steps and even my breathing silent as I creep past a house that has three dogs in the yard.  They have never actually come out into the road, but they bark a lot, and it was such a peaceful morning that I don’t want to incite them.  Success!  On beyond the dogs’ house I head downhill and approach a tight corner.  I’m on the inside where cars coming up the hill and rounding the corner can’t see me.   I hear a car coming up behind me so I can’t cross to the other side of the road.  I remind myself that one car’s noise can often cover up a second car’s approach so I slow down.   Sure enough just as the first car passed me another, undetected, came toward me from around the corner.  As I hopped up the bank to give the car room I make up a saying:  “A  wise country walker is vigilant at all times.”

Moving down the hill, coming out of the woods and heading across the wetlands a young male cardinal chirps at me from the underbrush along the road and later bright yellow and green goldfinches chatter happily as they hop among the grasses of the marsh.  As I approach the backside of town I listen to the rumble of a train coming and the hum of air conditioning units straining under the rising heat of another summer day.

I turn around in town, the end of mile 3, and walk back toward the marsh this time moving on the other side of the road.  A bit of water gurgles down the drainage ditch, widening and getting deeper as it gets closer to a stream.  At the bottom of the hill small frogs plop from the sides of the ditch landing splat into the water.  A chickadee goes through his litany of calls, then hops out to the end of a branch to watch me go by.

Back up into the cool dark woods I climb, the hum of the frogs in the swamp replaced by the higher pitched hum of bugs accented by what I think of as the “futuristic bug,” the one with the high pitched electronic sound that starts and stops, gaining in volume then cutting out.  I creep by the dogs’ house again and sigh in relief as I make the edge of their property without hearing their excited barking.  I’m further along the road, under the canopy of trees and hidden by the brush when I hear:  “DON’T GO THERE! DON’T GO THERE!”  I stop…consider…and wait to hear what’s next.  Then I hear:  “GOOD DOG!”  I laugh -and mosey on.

Now I’m five miles into my walk and I’m begin to have trouble with my IT band.  That’s a muscle or ligament or something that holds your kneecap in place.  I think.  Anyway the inside of my right knee is starting to get sore, and it is distracting me from the sights and sounds of walking in the woods.  It’s making me watch where I place my feet and not the scenery.  I began to hear nothing except the argument in my head.  Should I head for home and just do 6 miles?  Or continue on and risk injury?  A lawn mower sputters to life somewhere nearby.  The argument continues.  But just before the corner where I must make a decision I begin to walk on pavement after miles of walking on uneven dirt roads.  The knee feels much better now.  It’s still a beautiful day.  I had committed to 8 miles.  Heck I still have water left in my bottle so I continue on.

Now the sound of the freeway dominates my walk.  But along the way a chipmunk scurries into the underbrush sounding like something much larger.  A blue-jay cries.  Mourning doves coo.  I notice the sun is beating down and there are no woods to hide in.  The booming of a radio alerts me to a car coming up from behind and I step onto the shoulder.

Mile 7 and my knee is no longer having a good time.  Soon I’m not hearing any sounds other than my knee shouting at me and my mind berating my bad decision.  By mile 8 I’m considering hitch hiking.  Then with half a mile to go I’m just watching my feet and slowly slogging away.  One more hill, one more corner.  I stand in my neighbor’s sprinkler to rest.  I wonder about this whole 10 mile walk thing which is coming up in two weeks as I hobble home.

Now I’m sitting with the leg up, ice on the knee.  Katie is licking the salty slime off the rest of me.  Silly girl.  They say what doesn’t kill you makes you strong.

Here’s hoping that’s true.