Brett Amy Thelen: Backyard Naturalist – The joy of walking every day
Published: 01-24-2025 8:31 AM |
I am on a streak – a 78-day step streak, that is. Which is to say I have walked at least 10,000 steps every day for the last 78 days.
I don’t belong to a gym and I haven’t set foot on a treadmill since The Unfortunate Treadmill Incident of 1993 (don’t ask), so this also means that I have spent time outside every day for 78 days in a row. I didn’t set out with this particular goal in mind; a few weeks in, I just noticed that I hadn’t missed a day and decided to see where it might lead.
For me, 10,000 steps is somewhere between 60 and 90 minutes of walking, and just over four miles. Sometimes this takes the form of one long walk. Other days, I split it up, a short stretch at lunch followed by a sunset stroll or after-dark amble.
Most walks, I start out with my head a tangle of to-do lists, anxieties and ruminations. Eventually, the knot loosens, and the worries of the day fade into the curl of the wind. As the streak continues, I’m finding that it’s taking less and less time for my mind to quiet, as if my body has learned to recognize that this is the letting-go part of the day.
I don’t listen to music or podcasts while I walk. Instead, I wait to see what sounds the world will offer – a chickadee’s chatter, or an oak groaning in the winter wind. (When I’m walking on a road, being able to hear oncoming cars is also important for safety.)
Once, in a misguided attempt to multitask, I made the mistake of calling a friend from my evening walk. At that very moment, I caught a glance of an animal crossing the road ahead of me. Once it was a good 50 feet away from the road, the mystery mammal turned to face me from the safety of the woods, eyeshine glowing in mid-air like a cartoon character.
I hastily hung up the phone and scrambled for my flashlight, but the creature was gone before I could get a good look. Judging by its size and the way it moved, I think it might have been a small bear, but I’ll never know for sure. Since then, I strive to keep my phone in my pocket whenever I go out for a walk. Some days, it’s easier than others.
In winter, night comes early and the woodstove has its pull. The streak keeps me going even when weather or darkness might otherwise favor indoor pursuits. These aren’t the most-comfortable walks, but I never regret them, as venturing out in the wet or cold or dark (sometimes all three) offers a unique glimpse into the more-than-human world.
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Walking one evening in December, sheets of sideways-blowing snow scattered the beam of my headlamp, making it nearly impossible to see. I had unwittingly stepped into an angry snow globe, my vision reduced to just a few feet in any direction. Suddenly, a slapdash, curlicue pattern of tiny tracks appeared on the road before me.
Following the trail, I came upon a rather excitable vole attempting to burrow into a snowbank. At my approach, the nervous rodent leapt up, dashed right, dashed left, dashed right again and disappeared into the woods. Twenty minutes later, I passed by that same exact spot on my way home, and the tracks were gone, all sign of our chance encounter obscured by freshly fallen snow.
The other night, I thought maybe it was time to end the streak. I had gotten home late, exhausted from back-to-back-to-back meetings, and still needed 8,000 steps. I wanted nothing more than to sink into the couch and call it a day. Begrudgingly, I pushed myself out the door and into the cold, half-convinced I’d turn around at any moment.
Then, the clouds thinned to reveal the full Wolf Moon, with golden Mars dangling beneath it like a charm. In the moonlight, the pines cast long shadows across the road. A moon-bright meadow gleamed in the distance. So, I kept going.
When I got to my usual turnaround point – a footbridge over the brook that flows from Nelson’s Great Meadow to Harrisville Pond – I decided to walk a bit further, to a viewpoint. This is a popular path with dog-walkers, but afternoon squalls had just dropped an inch of fresh snow, and no one had walked it since.
Well, almost no one. Fifteen feet down the trail, I discovered otter tracks, bounding and sliding. I followed them down the path and along the edge of the brook, where the otters had romped on and under and alongside the ice, leaving behind some of the longest slides I’d ever seen, mere hours before I arrived.
And that is how I found myself following in the footsteps of otters under the light of the Wolf Moon. If I had stayed inside, I would have missed it all.
I will admit that these kinds of encounters are the exception rather than the norm, and that many of my walks are quite ordinary. But, as with so much in life, you just have to keep showing up, and eventually the extraordinary will find you.
Walking is not for everyone, but nature is. If walks aren’t possible or enjoyable for you, what other practice might help you set your stresses aside for part of each day? Can you commit to sitting on your front step for five minutes every day, no matter the weather, or to watching songbirds and squirrels through your window?
If data’s your thing, why not start a streak of daily iNaturalist observations or eBird checklists — or, for the artists among us, a regular nature sketching practice?
It doesn’t matter so much whether you walk or watch, sit or sketch. The important thing is to carve out space for the wild in your everyday life, and stick to it. Find your rhythm, and see where it takes you.
Brett Amy Thelen is science director at the Harris Center for Conservation Education.