Ambulare

The charming word ‘perambulator’, rather a mouthful if truth be told, comes from the Latin ‘per’ , through, and ‘ambulare' to walk, making a perambulator ‘one who walks through’ or ‘stroller’. Now this word applies to the wheeled gadget we usually associate with babies, but first it meant a person who passed through boundaries - one who strolled, literally, a stroller. I like to apply this older meaning to myself: I am a stroller - not a wheeled carriage for babies, but one who strolls. I know by now, dear reader, that I have mentioned more than once my love for a good ramble. In my opinion, it’s the best way to encounter a new place, a good way to clear the mind, the only way to make meetings enjoyable, and the best method for seeing as many dogs as possible. I am very lucky to live in a walkable city, and although I have lived in my neighbourhood for several years now, I still find little delights and new charms every time I step out my door.

Of course, this is not necessarily the easiest time of year to go wandering. It takes many long minutes to get dressed in all the requisite layers, and by the time I am ready to leave home, I am already hot and irritated. Then there is the ever-present problem of navigating the street. Falling snow is very charming: fallen snow causes headaches. There are snowdrifts to climb and clamber over, badly-cleared sidewalks, ice, slush, and increasingly narrow tracks left by the snowplows to struggle through after several months of snow. If it’s warm, the snow melts and then freezes and melts again, creating crisp layers of ice hiding under the latest cover of snowflakes. The result is either that you stride confidently about and then slip, like a cartoon, arse over tea kettle, and wind up feet in the air, flat on your back, or that you waddle, penguin-like, taking mincing steps and an uncanny fear gripping your heart and locking your knees. The little rubber cramp-on boot covers can help with this problem, but at some point, the ice is going to win. Nature so often does.

However, we are past the Winter Solstice, and so technically speaking, the days are growing longer and the nights shorter, even if only infinitesimally. Spring is eventually going to arrive again, and one of its greatest pleasures will no doubt be the freedom to wander clear, rain-washed streets with a light jacket and no mittens. Summer, of course, is in many ways the best for this - throw on a pair of comfortable shoes and off you go, ready for any amble your heart desires. I admit that at the height of summer, I tend to go walking very early in the morning or after dark, when it is coolest, but either way, there is still untold joy in tripping out the door without much thought or care.

There is perhaps one person I regularly encounter on my regular wanderings who is at even greater ease than I am, who has even fewer cares, regardless of season or sun - and that is the chubby-cheeked baby, ensconced in a stroller, being pushed along the pavement in their pram. In winter, they too have to be dressed within an inch of their lives, often rendered immobile by the layers of clothes, so that they resemble little snow-suited starfish rather than human children, arms and legs stiffly akimbo. And in summer, when the sun is hottest, the confines of their strollers are often canopied to shade their tiny occupants. Whether wrapped from top to toe or shielded from the elements or kicking their little bootied feet with rapture as they go, I am always struck by the thought, when I see a baby in a pram pass by: “Now that is the way to travel.” Perhaps, though, upon reflection, I would miss striding about at will, and the good, tired feeling after a long walk that makes a cup of tea and a rest so satisfying. Another year of wandering and journeys awaits us in just a few short days, and I am looking forward to what those adventures have to bring. Happy ambling, or perambulating, to you, dear reader, in the coming year.

Jennifer