Skip to main content

Boots on the Trail


Podcast - Boots on the Trail . . . 


“The present is who I am, just the way I am right now. And it is precious.” Spencer Johnson, The Precious Present.

This Memorial Day weekend, with boots on the trail, we experienced the precious present. For the first time, during this COVID-19 quarantine we were allowed to hike the local parks.

In Carlsbad, CA. we’re fortunate, we have a 110-acre, picturesque hiking spot, Calavera Hills Nature Preserve.

The morning was crisp and cool; the sky blue with patches of fluffy white clouds overhead. Once we hit the trail, a quiet solitude came over me: my mind began to wander, and my senses took flight.

Sounds - sights, and smells. The rhythm of my hiking poles tapping the rocks, the plodding of my boots against the good earth, the whistling of the birds, the trickle of running water, and the sweet smells of the grass. My mind recalling bits and pieces of words that expressed my gratitude for the experience. I wanted desperately to write them down but was driven to just to keep walking, no hurry, just calm, rhythmic steps forward.

So, this morning, the question was, “How to put all this into words?”

This compelled me to reach for an old book from my library, Walden by Henry David Thoreau and I read the following passage:

“When we perceive sights, sounds, and textures, we are not standing as disembodied consciousness apart from a world of inanimate mechanisms; rather, we are sentient beings immersed in the sensory world, learning the “essential facts of life” only through “the perpetual instilling and drenching of the reality that surrounds us.” (Walden).

The perception of truth “produces a pleasurable sensation, a healthy and refined nature would always derive pleasure from the landscape.” (Thoreau’s Journal).

Well said, sir - the truth is timeless. And what better way to express gratitude than to honor and share the wisdom of those who came before us in recognition.

Another timeless philosopher that expressed the present so well was Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his essay Self-Reliance he said,

“There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given him to till.”

“The power which resides in him is new in nature and none, but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.” – Emerson

So, my listening friends, as our confinement is slowly lifted take time to get outdoors and like so many before you get your boots on the trail.

This is Patrick Ball. Thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Back to School (Without the Triple Lindy)

I hadn’t set foot inside a public library in over thirty years. Last Saturday, when I walked through the sliding doors of the modern County of San Diego branch on Eucalyptus Avenue in Vista, my eyes instinctively scanned the floor for the familiar, comforting sight of varnished oak cabinets and brass pull-handles. Nothing . No card catalog. No little wooden drawers. No rows of index cards typed by someone who presumably had beautiful penmanship and a pension. I walked up to the front desk, looked the librarian dead in the eye, and asked with complete earnestness: "Where’s the card catalog?" She didn’t laugh, though she had every right to. Instead, she offered a warm, dry smile: "We magically had the computer digest it." And just like that, I was enrolled. Not the Rodney Dangerfield kind of back-to-school. No diving board, no loud blazer, no campus party, and thankfully, no need to convince anyone I belonged there. Just an overdue reminder that while I was busy with ...

Beyond Facts-The Deep Dive

✨ In this episode, Beyond Facts: Reimagining School–in the Age of AI . . .   This week's podcast is a bit different; it's another example of how Artificial Intelligence (AI) can offer tools to creatively enhance your analytical presentation of information. We took this week's blog and copied it into Gemini with the question, “If a story is to work, it must, on some level, create an illusion of escape and also achieve a goal simultaneously. Does this apply to my blog post that follows?” What's created is not just an analysis of the writing, but an AI-generated discussion produced “On the Fly” - Enjoy! Did you know that the word "school" comes from the ancient Greek word scholē , which originally meant "leisure"? Not a rigid schedule or droning lectures filled with "facts," but free time for thinking and conversation. To the Greeks, learning happened best when life slowed down—when you had room to reflect, to ask questions, and to wrestle ...

Doc Welch - The Country Doctor

In this episode, Doc Welch . . . Many authors have characterized life in rural Illinois over the years. Among the more notables are Edgar Lee Masters, who wrote Spoon River Anthology, Carl Sandburg for his poetry and biography of Abraham Lincoln, and little known to me until recently, my first doctor, whom everyone in town always called Doc Welch - James K. Welch, M.D.  (Feb. 7, 1915, to May 5, 1998) While exploring the microfilm of the Cuba Journal (published from 1884 to 1992), I consistently kept running across articles entitled The Country Doctor. This intrigued me. Doc Welch was a third-generation practicing Country Doctor in Cuba for over 40 years. His father, James William Welch, M.D., practiced medicine in Cuba for more than five decades. His grandfather, James Knox Welch, M.D., settled in Cuba after the Civil War. Cuba, Illinois, is a small, rural farming community in west-central Illinois, where I grew up. Like many small towns, it boasts a central square with a ban...

The Rhythm of the Woodpecker

The morning in Vista often begins under a heavy, gray marine layer that rolls in from the coast, pressing a damp, muffled stillness over the neighborhood. At 4:30 a.m., the driveways are still full. The local commuters are either blissfully unconscious or stumbling blindly toward their showers, clinging desperately to their last shred of peace before the nine-to-five grind claims them for the day. I, on the other hand, am voluntarily wide awake in the dark. When your agenda consists of absolutely nothing, it is critical to get an early start. Inside the house, the quiet is profound, broken only by the sharp, mechanical click of the kettle as it reaches a rolling boil. I stand at the counter, watching the dark ground coffee bloom as hot water hits the French press's stainless steel. The smell is sudden and heavy—a deep, roasted-earth aroma that cuts through the morning fog. I push against the plunger’s gritty resistance, pouring a cup that radiates dark, stinging heat against my pal...