I started the walk trying to protect myself against the cold, rain, and blustery wind. I gave up and let it try to win the war of wills. There was magic out there early this morning, because I had a little bit of it trapped in my head before I went out there.
Don’t get me wrong, I would have preferred the weather that allowed me to walk hundreds of miles in the dark during the summer. But that’s the kind of stupid thinking that convinces us we need to wait until everything’s perfect before we do anything.
By the time I entered the inconvenience store and got another delicious cup of hot coffee, I’ll admit the walk had me chilled to the bone. That’s why I call these stolen moments. I stole this cold beautiful walk from all the excuses I could have easily given to skip today.
I know I drone on and on sometimes about the difference in colors during the vampire hours. It’s twice as pronounced after a rainy day like yesterday. No matter how high my heart rate got at the top of some of the hills this morning, each time I reached a crest, the blustery wind quickly and insistently reminded me that the cold approaches. This type of beautiful October morning is a warning for anybody trying to keep their hair straight.
I found some beautiful Halloween decorations. There were houses more ornately adorned than that of the picture I’m sharing. But none surpassed the amazing saffron glow emitted by the house in the picture. I could see it from quite a distance. It does not razzle dazzle with complexity but passersby will strain their necks to determine the origin of the beautiful lights.
The picture I took from one of the hilltops is a failure. I love the way it looks, though. Taking pictures like that is drunk poetry. A lot of mumbling, and sometimes a random truth coherently stated.
Yesterday, I made a ginormous pot of homemade chili, using five different types of beans. Coincidentally, I think I solved our energy problem, but decorum inhibits me from further explanation.
I forgot to mention that I got dragged into the hunt for a fugitive last week. This is one of those things that initially sounds like I’m kidding. I wasn’t worried about my safety. Fugitives tend to try to keep a low profile, unlike people who have recently discovered a low carb diet, pilates, or a social/political issue they know nothing about.
As I wandered around this morning, I took note of all the vehicles crammed into unusual places due to the football game. A lot of my neighbors don’t know there is a small police impound for cars right across the street. There were two extra long flat tow trucks blaring their horns constantly as they dropped off vehicles. It was an annoying series of drop-offs. Because I am comedically inclined, I will point out that the security system consists of one singular camera pointed at the gate. I was originally going to post a picture of the gate, but I don’t want to encourage thievery. Anyone who needs money should do it the old fashioned way and become a congressman. Why steal a $10,000 car when you can become a millionaire without accountability?
“Learning without thinking is labor lost and thinking without learning is perilous.” Confucius warned us about the futility of unanchored ideas. But then again, his name suggests he was always a little confused. His real name was Kong Qui, which reminds me of the name of an algebraic equation. Also, while Confucius emphasized family life and values, he was divorced. I bet his wife wouldn’t stop nagging him to do the dishes.
I’m not one prone to superstition. But I do love glitches in the matrix, déjà vu, or those weird moments that have an explanation but seem sublime at the time.
I walked a massive loop so that I could traverse 112 in the dark. To hear the horses answer me as I called, because they want to be petted even at 3:00 a.m. To stand in the middle of the darkness and be blanketed by the thunder of insects.
Coming back, I didn’t realize I overshot the connecting road back to my apartment. I turned down Sycamore heading east as I admired the beautiful brick inlay crosswalk. A man on a three-wheeled bicycle startled me just as much as I startled him. He wasn’t there a second before and he certainly seemed surprised for me to appear in front of him. On the back of his bicycle was a stack of bread rolls. It’s not something you see every day, a man on a three-wheeled bicycle with a cart in the back, holding bread rolls that early in the morning.
Even though I was heading east toward home, I realized I had turned south on Lawson. I started getting that weird vibe. So instead of turning back, I kept going. I hadn’t been to the next block in a few weeks. They’re building some beautiful residences along there.
When I hit the corner of Lawson and Oakland, I was astonished to see a fully finished two-story building on the corner. I couldn’t believe the building appeared in an empty lot so quickly. A white four-door sedan was too close to the corner. I noticed it because the overhead street light illuminated the interior of the car. I noticed no one was in the car, even though it felt like I was going to see someone behind the wheel. I also took a moment to smell the scent of wood smoke from somewhere nearby. It’s too early in the year to smell it, but it was a welcome preface to the October just around the corner.
After a block, I turned to head back around to home. Even though I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t walk forever. I’d already forgotten about my astonishment at seeing the new construction being finished on the corner.
Walking back along the same street from the other direction, I noticed the huge vertical stack of wooden pallets next to the street sign. The light coming through them made a really interesting pattern. I took out my phone to take a picture.
That’s when the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I was standing at the corner of Oakland and Lawson, the same corner where I’d experienced the surprise of seeing the building appear so quickly since the last time I went through.
The corner doesn’t have a building on it. It’s just foundations. And of course there was no white four-door sedan under the street light.
I had a cup of coffee before I started my long walk, and even though I had walked a couple of hours, tiredness didn’t explain the hallucination of seeing the completed building or the car parked under the steet light.
All I could do was laugh at the absurdity of attributing it to my overactive imagination or unexpected deja vu.
If I come back to Oakland and Lawson in a few months, I expect to see two-story buildings on the corner. They’ll be dark blue or dark gray with the windows trimmed in white. And maybe there will be a white four-door car under the street light.
I didn’t capture the stack of pallets that would be on the right side of the picture. It took quite a bit for the feeling of deja vu to disappear. I finally gave in to the urge to look at my watch to see that it was really the 27th of September. I would not have been surprised if the date wasn’t what I expected.
As for this morning’s long walk, it was interspersed with too many people suffering from yesterday’s choices and last night’s anger. The contradiction of one of the last summer mornings cool breeze and moisture-laden air. The distant lightning flashing like old memories. I will wager that all of the people I witnessed suffering from their inability to take a chill pill and go to sleep will one day think back and wonder what made everything feel so urgent and dramatic. That’s what age gives you; a recognition that one of the ways to try to be happier is to remember all the times It felt like everything was an emergency, or that your feelings that seemed so monumental will soon be forgotten. Replaced by new emergencies.
When I passed the two beautiful young people arguing relentlessly on the curb along Leverett, I wanted to stop instead of passing by without comment. I wanted to tell them that they had youth, beauty, and the luxury of a good education. And maybe it would be better for them to stop opening bottles until they had control of their emotions. I didn’t, of course. Almost a block away, the strong wind carried their fruitless words to me. They might as well have been shouting into the wind instead of each other.
I took a few pictures, but none was so eerie as that of the forgotten streetside vehicle. In a good world, I wouldn’t hesitate to check the doors in order to save somebody the surprise of a dead battery. After checking to ensure that no one was passed out inside, I took a long exposure to illuminate the incredibly dark neighborhood, one in which the railside and gentrified beautiful houses sit quietly.
“I couldn’t be around them. They all had smoke on their tongues. You know who I mean. The energy vampires who you never catch being encouraging. The ones who complain just eloquently enough to make you forget they are problem-oriented. They don’t look for glimmers or things to be happy about. Nah, they search for proof that they are right to be unhappy and cynical. And guess what? They find them around every corner. You might not be wise enough to recognize it yet, but they’re trying to recruit you. Misery loves company and it is always trying to find ways to get you to sign up.”
The weirdest moment this morning was another one of those slow creeping realizations. Wearing Bose headphones that were given to me, I wasn’t listening to anything. I was only about thirty minutes into my long walk, heading toward the terminus of Leverett. Some kind of small animal darted out of the forgotten brush of Narnia a foot in front of me. I’m glad it wasn’t a dinosaur because I had no warning. I dropped my phone as my heart raced.
Picking up my phone, I kept walking after looking around for the phantom animal. The light breeze shifted and became much stronger. When the sound started, I presumed it to be something connecting to my headphones. Traveling overhead like the Doppler effect, the high metallic twang raced from behind me overhead and flew past. I pulled my headphones down and stopped. Nothing happened as I stood motionless in the middle of the road. Two steps after I started walking, the twang came up fast behind me. This time, the lack of headphones not only confirmed it with real but that it was loud and traveling fast. The muscles in my back tensed because instinct made me want to duck.
Looking up, I expected to see a huge power surge or crackling line of static running along the huge high voltage power lines overhead. Nothing.
As I neared the literal end of the road, I expected the smell of ozone or burned arc lighting. Nothing again.
I stopped and took a picture. One of the things that makes vampire walks so beautiful is that all the lights seem both bright and indistinct at the same time. If you look at the upper portion of both sides of my picture, you can see anomalies.
I’m sure my lizard brain wasn’t dealing well with whatever stimulus had just happened. I walked really fast and made a left, leaving the area as quickly as I could without running.
112/Garland was stunningly quiet and beautiful. I circled the 8 acre Agri Park several times because I didn’t want to leave the thundering insects or the peaceful quiet that surrounded me there. Not to mention the absence of strange electrical zooming overhead.
The rain came at 5:32 a.m.
PS Did you know that you’re five times more likely to be incarcerated in the United States compared to China? A random fact that doesn’t seem possible.
I drove to Springdale and parked my car. I wanted to say something new. Instead, the phone started immediately. A young man walked on 71, talking way too loudly into his phone. I didn’t have to eavesdrop. Whoever he was, the last place he needed to be was out in public. And whoever was on the other end of the phone probably needs to be careful of being around him.
When I took the first picture of the Springdale administration building, for the first time in years I remembered going to vacation Bible School in the building. Somewhere around 47 years ago. That’s a sobering thought.
Passing what used to be Mathias plaza, I recalled the earliest memory I had of it. When I went with my friend Mike to the opening celebration decades ago, when a boot shop could make a fortune in a small town dedicated to rodeo and simple living. I don’t remember a lot of specifics other than scamming too much free candy.
Walking past the old AQ spot, seeing a monstrous car wash in its place. Decades of nostalgia washed away by modernity. Despite what many claim, AQ was never about the food. It was one of the few agreed upon destination restaurants, one I only got to visit when family made their rear visits to this isolated corner of Arkansas, before the interstate snaked its way through to us. Like its competitors Hush Puppy,art Maedtri’s, and others, it remains only in old shoeboxes of pictures. And though it seems you can bring back the name, you can’t bring back the amber-hued nostalgia of it.
Seeing the Harps plaza caught me off guard. It’s another place totally transformed. I stood and looked at the bright modern lights shining against the dark of the early morning.
Chills ran up my spine as I entered the North entrance of Buff cemetery. It is one of the dark places of Springdale. Everything is shadows. Most people wouldn’t want to walk such a huge cemetery in the middle of the night. I visited some of the names that matter: Jimmy, Ardith, Donnie, Julia, Bill. The bright red light in the background confused me. Of course I made my way around to see its origin. It’s part of someone’s memorial for their loved one. A decoration that no one other than me would see, wondering in the middle of the dark. Neither of the pictures I’ll include accurately capture how dark it is, nor how prominently the small little light projects across the curve of the hill holding all the graves.
Bluff cemetery is stunning in the hours of the vampire. Tall, old trees, filled with chirping insects, none of which are bothered by light. It’s been years since I’ve been here in the dark. I don’t know how I let myself forget how peaceful it is. A literal 360 of the night sky, one unaware of everything around it. I didn’t get spooked even once, not that I expected to. I’m not worried about the supernatural; pretty much everything we have to fear walks on two legs. And the most dangerous creature of all is a man convinced of his good intentions.
Maybe I’m not supposed to be walking around at that hour. The front entrance is closed. But if anybody would fault me for wanting to enjoy the place and visit markers of the people I once knew, I would ask them to visit the place in the dark, experience the cool breeze, and be surrounded by the insects and the huge sky above. These places call upon us to reflect in the daylight. In the dark, you don’t have to wonder where you will end up. All the joy and drama that was so important yesterday vanishes.
I did not realize I walked two miles in big criss-crossing loops in the cemetery until I exited.
I didn’t consciously turn the direction that I hadn’t planned. I hit the intersection of Sanders and Lowell before I even realized I went east. I wonder how many people even remember a corner store once stood across from the intersection of Mill and Lowell street? That’s another memory I had forgotten until now.
The moon shadows beautifully illuminated the old houses through there. The kind of houses that once defined Springdale. Sure, there were rich people, and we all knew where they prefered to live. The rest of us lived in houses like these. With porches, wood siding that probably never got painted often enough, accompanied by the sound of the trains that always passed through. Most people had a vehicle for hauling. The kind where you could put down the tailgate and have both kids and dogs jump into without a second thought.
It’s safer now. I think back to the times I huddled in the back of a pickup with my brother and sister. More than once we drove all the way to Brinkley, across the mountains and down the interstate long before it connected us to the rest of the world. I could tell you a dozen stories about some of those trips. Statistically speaking, in a multiverse of possible outcomes, I probably didn’t survive in any of the parallel universes. That last thought is the kind of foolishness my Grandma would have scowled at.
Then I came upon Randall Wobble, One of the most misspelled roads possible. The Fitzgerald cemetery sits awkwardly on the corner. Most people do not know the history of it, nor of some of the interesting people buried there. It’s been passed millions of time, just a blip on the periphery of people’s attention. Nor do they know how historically significant the nearby area is, cut by one of the oldest roads in the United States. Old Wire and Butterfield Stagecoach contain massive amounts of history that shouldn’t be forgotten. We may now have the interstate, but Springdale has the original artery of the nation, at least in this direction.
I walked the length of the now desolate Cargill property. I worked there for years, from the kill side to HR. I met housands of people there, including my wife who died. It was a place that needed almost everybody if they needed a job. You rolled the dice if you applied. It was the place that made Spanish a song in my heart. It’s hard to believe that when I applied there, the plant was only about 25 years old. 35 years elapsed since then, until its closure. It is a harsh reminder that nothing is permanent and that plans are what we create in an attempt to control the future.
If you want to know what Springdale might have become absent the interstate and forward-looking people, take a walk in the dark along Jefferson and keep going until you hit modern Huntsville Avenue. I’m not maligning the area. Without infrastructure and jobs, places like Springdale would have stagnated. Prosperity brings scissors, though. Old places have to get replaced, often taking some of the things the original residents cherish. Frankly, one stretch of the streak reminds me of a James Cameron movie. It’s hard to explain unless you were there with me. Trucks loading and unloading, lights, machinery buzzing and clanging.
The Berry Street and Emma intersection was wonderfully redone. It’s been a couple of weeks since I took a long early morning walk through downtown Springdale. The progress on the building on the old Layman’s property Is is amazing.
I put the “detour ahead” picture in because It’s a warning to remember that none of these beautification projects will work long term if there aren’t enough jobs or an economy that supports working-class families. This isn’t a political statement. It’s an economic reality that a lot of places have forgotten. The consequences squeeze regular people out of the place they never wanted to leave.
Emma is as beautiful as the last time. I look at all the new steel and glass places with appreciation. But my eyes seek out the familiar. Spring Street visually hollered at me as I passed, as did the neon horse guarding the old bank building.
I hope no one minds that I reiterate an old observation of mine: Springdale definitely has beauty, a nice mix of demographics, and plenty of things to do. But the logo that the Chamber of Commerce picked still makes me feel like that the Borg have invaded, leaving this logo behind as a warning.
As I neared at the end of my walk, a vehicle stopped at one of the four-way stops along Emma. You know the ones I’m talking about. You would have thought Springdale installed tire spikes, given the amount of complaining when the signs were first installed. The man inside shouted, “Hey, X!” I shouted back, “Hey, how are you doing?” It was dark, so all I saw was the silhouette of his face as he leaned slightly out the window. I have no idea who it was!
But it’s the perfect metaphor threading through the mass of words I’ve shared. Springdale is still a place where we can be neighborly, even in the dark on a deserted Saturday morning.
I hated for the walk to end. My legs were protesting and wobbling. A reminder that we’re supposed to do all things in moderation, whatever the hell that is.
I was out too early, looking to see a few spectacular meteorites from the Perseid meteor shower that is peaking this week. I know a couple of amazing dark spots in the middle of all this urban sprawl. But for some reason my feet took me west until I finally reached Deane Street. The modern trail and street lights they’ve installed are gorgeous. The first stretch looks like an infinite straight strip. On the north side, there is still a huge field that stretches north, with a northern perimeter that has surprisingly few lights to interrupt it. Facing away from the beautiful street lights, it’s one of the best urban views of the northern sky that can be had. It was beautiful before they modernized Deane. It’s still beautiful now, albeit in a different way.
As I walked, I stopped for fifteen seconds every few minutes so that I could watch and scan the sky for meteors. The third time I did so, I saw something running along in the tall grass. It turned out to be a small fox. Further along, I realized it was interested in me. I took out my camera and stood still. That’s how I got this amazing photo that is everything except the fox.
Shortly thereafter, at about 2:45 a.m., the blare of distant police and fire sirens to the south caused unseen animals out in the expanse of the field to howl and yap. I stopped about 100 yards away from the modern veterinary lab on Deane, listening in appreciation. A couple of barn and equipment buildings silhouetted against the sky. And that’s when I got to see my first meteorite streaking like a casual hello. It was short-lived but brilliant. That’s about all you can ask for. A couple of miles of walking in the dark gifted me with the briefest of illuminations.
As the economy sputters, and as I watch people seemingly dive into erroneous faith that encourages attitudes better left behind us, I stole that damn moment. Of course I would rather see a dozen meteorites. But it is the first bite of pizza that delights, or that split second when you lean in for the kiss you’ve waited for. Everything else is saturation and overindulgence.
An hour later, I still couldn’t bring myself to turn around. So I looped and walked along the mega car stores and the perimeter of the interstate. Absent traffic, there were amazing views of the night sky. Once you reach Chicory Place, you’ve encountered what I call Pocket Narnia. No street lights. No buildings. Animals and critters creeping without worry. It is a snippet of a perfect night view. The sound of insects holds its own against the background rumbling of the interstate that now seems to be five miles away. I can’t imagine that this little piece of Narnia will survive much longer, much like the original Narnia at the end of Leverett. “Everything changes, but not all of it is progress.”
When I took a minute to kneel and chalk a message on the concrete near the desolate Sam’s club, whoever was driving by slowed to a crawl. I ignored them, But also wondered what they thought they were seeing as they watched me leave a message, One that was almost Ecclesiastical.
I was lucky today. Despite walking too many miles, my accidental route didn’t drag me linearly. Had it done so, I would have had to call a friendly Uber to get back home. It amuses me that when I’m out here and forget time, it feels as much like home as sitting in my office chair.
I’m probably the only one I know who appreciates how beautiful Garland/112 is on these early summer mornings before the sun even considers gracing us. I walked right down the middle of this road that is still somehow two lanes. The dome of the sky enveloped me. The modern buildings the U of A intermittently installed become invisible. The view from there is largely the same as it was seventy years ago.
As I came parallel to the Y-park, I turned and stopped to listen to the ocean of insects and to briefly remember a late night there forty years ago. My second meteorite of the night interrupted my reverie. If I didn’t know better, I might swear that the universe is trying to remind me that there are no moments unworthy of distraction.
Sitting on the landing while attempting to hold and contain my cat while drinking a cup of coffee, I had the strange sensation that if I did not get up right then and take a walk, that I might not do it again.
Within two minutes, I was out and headed north. Even though I didn’t think about it, I was headed right down the throat of daylight commerce. Except at 3:00 a.m., It’s a ghostland. Everyone is in a hurry unless they are driving to avoid detection.
When I went over the crest looking out onto the interstate interchange, the breeze hit me again. I stopped for a moment to watch the stillness and the kaleidoscope of lights. It’s not supposed to be pretty, but of course it was.
I’m in Springdale now, knowing I probably can’t walk all the way back without the risk of my legs getting wobbly. I’m not quite ready to sit down in the red rocking chair in my living room and stay there.
When I neared the crest opposite Lake Fayetteville where the Lewis and Clark building sits empty and watches, the breeze off the lake felt like salvation.
I’m going to keep going for a while. In the off chance this could indeed be the last time I take such a walk. The only reason we get through a lot of days is because we don’t know when we’re experiencing the last of something -or watching some on way now do the same.
I’ve been out wandering the colorful nighttide. (Still one of my favorite words.) The colors and sky have been worth seeing. I enjoyed seeing the little house cat in the industrial building, its paws raised up behind the dirty glass of the front window. The fox that darted across the street in front of me, headed to the creek. A couple of rabbits, one dog wandering and wanting to be petted, goats in their enclosure, a few bats, and a variety of birds that I collected on my Merlin app. The wind has been blowing the entire time, rustling the trees and foliage. I saw a couple of people who were ill-advisedly still up from last night. One of them was sitting by the creek on the large rocks along its banks, enjoying a beer. I don’t normally walk in the creek barefoot so early in the morning, but I couldn’t resist. There are a few places near my apartment where the sky opens up and are relatively uncluttered. I sometimes forget how much a juxtaposition the area is. The world is unfortunately waking up now. But I owned it for long enough this morning.
I’m not supposed to express confusing emotions on social media. I mixed an errand with an early morning walk. That was my intention. But I ended up sprinting. I waited until each breath was more difficult and then my Fitbit began to alarm, flash, and vibrate. Of course I kept going. Even harder. As often happens when you’re pushing past your natural limit, I hit the void point. For those of you who’ve never experienced it, it’s very similar to being on a jet with a steep incline that suddenly pops through the clouds. When I stopped running and resumed walking, it was impossible to look at the sunrise in the same way. Stunning. There was also a tinge of melancholy. Because I wanted so badly to turn to someone with a pointed finger, “OMG. Look!” It’s possible that they might just acknowledge such an obvious observation with a nod. Mundane sights transformed are one of my secret joys. Perhaps it might not have been so beautiful had my brain not been soaked in adrenaline.
PS I included a couple from last night because the light and color was a cliché of color.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 