03/03/2026
You will always be welcome to walk on DaCy Meadow Farm.
Walking through my life, musings of an silverback, bipedal, clever , naked primate trying to overcome our DNA prone to violence and self-interest through conscious ambulation.
Since , according to all of my English instructors, writing is supposed to be rife with literary elements here’s some symbolism. For bipedal primates, walking is using our skeletal-musculatory system combined with some sensory devices in our ears to stop gravity from hurling us towards the surface of the earth at 9.8 meters/second squared. From the time we take our first halting steps as a toddler until we rise no more, every time we walk we are simply in a controlled fall. Going for a walk has become an invaluable tool to protect me from a tendency towards uncontrolled falls.
Growing up on a farm, the idea of going for a walk with no particular purpose was viewed as an entirely impractical diversion, likely to inflame passions and wanderlust, akin to putting too much spice in your food. No good could possibly come from it and there was work to be done. I often wondered what reaction I would have received if I had told my farm family that when I watched the Ed Sullivan show, I longed to be a dancer.
My world was small in those formative years. I could see the Adirondack Mountains to the south, but they seemed out of reach. When I was seventeen , an acquaintance asked my cousin and I if we would help him salvage parts from a plane that had recently crashed on nearby Debar Mt. He needed pack mules , young and strong, we seemed up to the task. With no idea what was involved, we met him at Meachem Lake State Park. As we walked up the mountain that day, changing climate zones with altitude, feeling strong and confident, my body rose to the occasion. We are the descendants of bands of primate hunter gatherers who wandered on to the savannas of Eastern Africa. A potent combination of an outsized brain, opposable thumb, and bipedalism proved an evolutionary advantage . At our core, forever ingrained in our DNA , ignored at our own risk, we are destined to wander, to explore, to walk. At some point in the Darwinian progression from then to now, we were blessed or cursed with the awareness of our mortality and a sense of beauty and wonder. All of this washed over me in a powerful, transformative experience when I stepped above the trees and looked down on what had been up to then the entirety of my world. I was hooked.
I soon discovered that I was pretty good at walking , especially up, over, and down mountains. I attribute this to an inheritance from my Scottish ancestors moving powerfully and nimbly across heath and moor, up craggy peaks, defending their clans and glens against Romans, Vikings , and worst of all, the blaggard English. Freedom ! When I want to connect with my French ancestors I turn my flat cap sideways, wrap two or nine scarves around my neck , tilt my head back , look down my Gallic nose, take on an air of arrogant ennui, and talk about fat Americans while I take a long drag on a cigarette.
Since that day, walking has always been a sanctuary , medicine, a canary in a mine, a gauge of my well-being. In my early twenties, the dark force that Winston Churchill called his “ black dog” became a regular and powerful adversary. When it envelops me, every movement seems impossible to bear and I retreat from the healing power of a walk in the woods. Like so many who face this challenge I sought refuge in places, and people, and thoughts, and actions that only strengthened my cruel foe. This inevitably led to a self-imposed midlife crisis, aren’t they all self-imposed. I made one of the most important decisions of my life, and set out on a vision quest to thru hike the Appalachian Trail, Springer Mt. in Georgia to Mt. Katahdin in Maine. The plan was simple , either get better or get gone.
Wandering for months through the mountains and valleys of the Appalachian Mountains my mind, body, and spirit came together as never before. I received countless , random acts of kindness from strangers that restored my faith in people. In gratitude, I try to repay this trail magic at least once every day. The instant intimacy of sharing days with other seekers in a bubble of rebellion against conformity and responsibility gave me the connection, time , space to get better. Even then, I knew that this time and experience were both necessary and self-indulgent. Life beckoned and I was ready to take it on again. I came close to walking the entire 2162 miles, but falling short never felt like a failure. It refocused me for what came next.
Shortly after my return, I met the love of my life and we have created a wonderful life together. We’ve held hands on long walks in beautiful places around the world, including on the farm we have created through our partnership. It feels like the circle is being completed . There have been dangerous and difficult moments , but I no longer feel like I’m walking alone. There are few experiences from my more than seven decades that I would diminish with regret, not even the most painful moments. This is our purpose, to live, to love, to endure, to grow, to share, to help others, to aspire. There is one piece of unfinished business. I’ve got a walk to complete . When I go back now , I walk with a joyful and grateful heart, letting the miles come to me gently, mindfully, purposefully. I’ve imagined the moment when I take that last step on the summit of Mt. Katahdin countless times. More symbolism, for my last halting step, all of ours, will come sooner than we think possible. I may never finish and I am at peace with that. I will have much unfinished business when I walk my last step. I don’t know what I will feel on either occasion, but I intend to walk towards those moments with curiosity and acceptance. One of the many lessons I’ve learned on long walks.
