Yesterday, my friend Claudia reminded me of the importance of going barefoot. She had a good point. Foot health is important. In Chinese medicine, the whole body including every organ is connected to our feet. When I lived in Thailand, foot massages were a regular part of self care and health, but it’s also a tropical country which meant that I feet were, well, footloose and fancy free. Back here in the US, my dogs spend a good portion of the year wrapped up and cozy. I love winter in my midatlantic region of the States precisely because enjoy a good pair of warm wool socks. I love making warm wool socks. I love buying warm wool socks. And I love wearing warm wool socks.
But Spring is upon us now and I realized how right Claudia was. My feet had been boxed in. We saw a good amount of snow and ice this year which meant that my feet saw the inside of boots a good amount this year.
I’ve been getting this one plot of forest-park land in my neighborhood for a few years now with regular walks over the same stretch of ground over and over again. It changes every single morning.
The other day, I was walking in one area that I’ve probably for too long considered the least remarkable part of my walk. The stream isn’t visible, there’s no real view, and it basically feels as thought it’s just someone’s backyard. But then something unexpected happened that made me take a second look. I was walking past a tree that had already lost its blossom. Which, yes, I’m going to admit that I probably didn’t think it was worth a second glance. I live in an area (the DMV) famous for its cherry blossoms. And I, too, sometimes get so caught up in the spring flowering tree frenzy that I undervalue the trees without showy flowers or the ones that have lost theirs. What can I say? I’m a blossomist.
And then the other morning, as I was walking by, largely ignoring this post-blossom tree when it touched me. And when I say, “I touched me,” I mean that a branch from this tree that had not been anywhere near my face as I approached, brushed the side of my head as I walked by. I turned around and looked at the tree. And laughed. “Ok,” I thought. “You got my attention.” Said branch? When walked back, I had to reach my hand as far as my arm could reach and lift my heels off of the ground in order to touch its leaves. Nobody can tell me that tree wasn’t trying to initiate contact.
I’m nearly fifty years old and I had a unilateral mastectomy last year for breast cancer. I know the feeling of being overlooked once my blossoms dropped. The good news is that that tree and I are now besties. And I’m looking at her section of the park in a whole new light.
So on my morning walk today, I really paid attention to her and her surroundings. What must it be like to live in her part of this world? This required further investigation.
I furtively glanced around to make sure that I didn’t offend anyone with unshod feet, took off my shoes and socks and carried them across the green carpet of (not grass but) lesser Celandine. (I had to look it up; I’m not able to recognize and name plant species like I once was able to as a kid but I’m working on it and perhaps I’ll even be writing more about plant identification.) In spite of it being called “lesser” (it’s always a competition with western plant naming systems, isn’t it?) this Celandine was lovely, and cushiony, and just a little bit squeaky.
But there was still just enough of a chill in the air and greenery, that my feet quickly got cold. Thankfully, my wool socks were still warm tucked into my shoes and after a quick dusting off of my soles, I quickly tucked them back in.
I took a picture of the stretch of ground that I crossed. (My girl is just out of frame in respect for her privacy.)
The chill, the green, the Earth itself: it’s all very enlivening. Oh, and, of course, my tree friend. My feet were happy to be freed — even for a few moments and just a few dozen steps across the Celandine (nothing lesser about it) and dirt.
Live action shot of me after my shoeless, sockless morning jaunt.
(Shout out to my Gen X people who appreciate this reference.)
Rhena Writes 