December 31st, 2020

Years ago when I blogged regularly I would do a review at the end of year using photos of my feet. It’s kind of odd to think about now but at the time seemed an apt way to honour where my feet had taken me over twelve months. 

My feet are bony and long-toed and roll slightly inwards. “Pigeon toed” as a kid, sometimes tripping over myself, class mates noticed and made fun of me. For years mum took me to see podiatrists and I wore orthotics in my shoes to help my feet walk as they should. 

Yet I have always loved walking. It is when I feel both alive and restful. Closer to nature and to the urban, to God.

It has been a year of walking. Short solitary walks, almost every day on the farm have sustained me. Given me relief from the strain I felt at home. Helped me reconnect with my body and my breath. Helped me notice the subtle changes of season: watch birds and grasses and cloud covering. A moving space to cry or rage or grieve in, talk it out, let it go, play with ideas, pray. 

It has also been a year of walking with others: most of all my three children. It was the thing we most looked forward to and needed after a day of balancing (rather haphazardly) chores, egg cleaning, meals, schooling - the time after lunch we would be free to roam and ramble. Walks became our daily reset button, and oh did we need them. 

Then there were a few special walks with my sister and friends after weeks of not being able to see each other: time to chat vigorously and move our legs, notice the season unfurling around us. My dear friend came on a walk with me in spring, and she took this photo. I think it’s my favourite from the year, a reminder that 2020 was a year of walking too...