03.03
The Interurban Trail, at the southern edge of Springfield, Illinois, looking north.
I’ve been making it a point to get out and walk more, both for the exercise and for the fill up in spirit that time out of doors gives me. I heartily recommend it, especially for anyone in colder climates as a way to rid yourself of the winter doldrums. Even though it was in the mid 30’s F and a bit windy, I was warm enough to not mind it by the action of walking.
Some folks love these kind of trails. For me, it’s not my ideal. To put it more bluntly, it was not fun. I’d much rather be in a winding wooded trail, that was just dirt, or a carpet of leaves or mulch, than an asphalt-covered stretch into the infinity of the distance that this trail seemed to me. Now I know this about me, whereas, before I had no experience with one of these type of trails.
I made the most of it, exploring the snow-covered sides of the trail, enjoying the flying “V” formations of geese overhead, and wondering what the trees, lining the trail would look like in a few weeks when their blossoms of green start to bud out in force.
I’m glad the trail is there. It’s part of a planned group of trails that will eventually stretch from the northern edge of Sangamon County to its southernmost tip. On this cold late afternoon, i met only one other traveler on the trail, an unfortunate soul who’s bike had broken down. He was walking it back to the parking lot I presume.
Growing up, I had 15 acres of varied landscape to explore. Creek, fruit orchard, pond, fields of grass, hills and valleys and woods were our playground. I never knew how fortunate we were until after I had come into adulthood. Now, as I am finding my interest in all things out doors rekindled through my love of landscape and nature photography, I’m realizing all over again how fortunate we were to grow up with those surroundings.
Having those childhood roots embedded in the out of doors, and the time spent in wooded surroundings, is probably why I’d much rather be in a forest trail than a bicycle trail. The child in me rejoices at the sound of the woodlands crunching beneath my feet, seeing the way nature tends it’s own, and hearing the sound of the wind through the infinity of branches and leaves does leave it’s mark.
Life can never be boring for me. There’s too much to explore, and it changes with every beat of my heart.
Beautiful pespective shot. Straight lines converging toward the horizon.
The Interurban was a series of one-car electric trains that ran between small towns in the mid 20th century. I recall picking up the older woman who came via Interurban to Springfield from Staunton to babysit us in the 50s onward. I remember being fascinated by the one-car train she exited.
If only we’d kept those unique forms of mass transit, perhaps the crazy, gas-guzzling interstate system might not have become such a necessity; a necessity that makes us dangerously dependent on the billions of barrels of oil shipped daily to U.S. ports from afar.