A thousand different journeys.

We must have walked this path a thousand times, my son and I. A thousand journeys, each one a little different as we’ve grown, changed and (mostly) become wiser. When my son was small he was also restless, with a ton of energy. Still is, in many ways. Always moving, never still. We’d wake up at dawn, sometimes before, and I’d be thinking of ways to keep him occupied so we didn’t both go stir crazy. So we’d walk along the path, in the direction of the park. Sometimes we didn’t make it that far. We’d be stopped by a bubbling stream, or a half-dead worm needing to be rescued, or a ripe blackberry bush, or just a patch of dirt that was inexplicably fascinating.

A little later, the path was our route to preschool, becoming part of our daily routine. First a slow walk, then on a balance bike, then later on a little green bike with stabilisers. When preschool re-opened after three months of closure during the pandemic, it felt like momentous changes had taken place and I was walking with a different child altogether.

The same path was where we took the stabilisers off and my son really mastered his bike. Every day for a week during the second Covid lockdown he’d ride up and down the path, with me holding onto him a little less each time. We walked down the path every day during the lockdown for our daily exercise (when conditions permitted), often to the Big Field where we’d run around and roll down the hills. It was there that I met the mother of one of his school friends, who has since become a good friend of mine.

Once my son started school, we walked along the same path in the opposite direction. That five-minute walk was a part of the day I treasured. Now he walks (or runs) to school confidently by himself, without a backwards glance.

In summer, the area around the path became our playground. We’d take the walkie-talkies and spend an hour playing hide-and-seek, running for miles over bridges, around the copses and through the fields. Always meeting back on the path.

These days our walk together (or often our ride together) is a ritual. In the dark evenings of autumn and winter we look out for bats. In the summer we enjoy the cool evening air. Sometimes my son rides his scooter, showing me his latest tricks. Sometimes we come up with games, or have imaginary Pokémon battles. And sometimes we just talk about what’s on our minds, and enjoy walking the path together, while it is still ours.