Walking and Reading Journal;
I went for a walk in my neighborhood of Albany Park on the northwest side of Chicago.
As I was walking down my block, I paused because I saw a bucket of pickles that was turned over on a neighbor’s front yard. The bucket of pickles was unopened, and the pickle owner was nowhere in sight. I snapped a photo and continued walking.
At 3:50 PM I passed a man who looked like Ted Danson from the TV show ‘The Good Place.’ He was wearing a “Dog Dad” t-shirt with a dog paw print where the “O” in the word “dog” was. In each hand he held a leash. One of his dogs was a large, regal-looking, white poodle. The other was a collie-type dog with bright, light brown eyes. I asked him if his dogs were friendly. He said, “sort of,” but didn’t move away. I tentatively patted the collie on the head but started to pet him when he responded affectionately and lovingly- we had a bond. The other dog simply stared at me.
I passed a donut shop called “Something Sweet” at 4 pm. The sign on the shop had a sweet-looking pink donut. I peered hopefully at the hours posted on the door, but it was closed. I saw a man sweeping the floor, but he did not look up. I went on my way.
When I was crossing Kedzie at 4:25, a race car with an overly loud motor whipped around the corner and drove by me like a bat out of hell and disappeared with a screech of tires.
As I was walking down Sunny Side at 4:30, I saw a yard sale wrapping up. Three older women formed a tight knit circle, counting their earnings from the things that they had sold off of the card tables set up on the sidewalk. I paused to look at what was left on the tables and ended up buying a pretty fan (that was slightly broken)- it was a dollar. I walked away fanning myself, feeling glamorous with my new accessory.
I was on my block at 4:45 PM when I noticed an unusually large leaf on the ground. It was crunchy looking, with the edges starting to curl up. It was made up of shades of gold and yellow and was fading to brown. It was one of the only leaves on the ground on the whole block. I quickly picked it up, careful not to crumple it. Seeing it reminded me that fall is around the corner; I ended my walk bright eyed, feeling excited for my favorite season, leaf and fan in hand.
In “The Solitary Stroller and the City,” Rebecca Solnit writes, “Cities have always offered anonymity, variety, and conjunction, qualities best basked in by walking” (p. 182). How have you experienced the anonymity, variety, and conjunction of Chicago while walking?
It is impossible to be known in a city. We don’t know who lives in the pretty house we walk past, the name of the worker who works 9–5 in the donut shop we want to try, or who owns the collared cat who is running on the street, probably lost. The people we brush past, masked or unmasked, also don’t know us. Even the names of people who were so important in their lives that statues were commissioned and erected in their honor have names unknown to most of us. It’s tough to make a mark on a city. Despite the anonymity and impermanence of our lives, the variety of life in Chicago is what makes time spent in the city alive, vibrant, and beautiful. People have put themselves into their gardens and houses. One house I saw had a patchwork of colors in its garden, bright with yellow, pink, and purple chrysanthemums, and the owner had made the house distinct with flowing teal blue curtains. I heard music drifting from passing car windows, and smelled frying food from restaurants and back yards. Even while we are passing through this city, we are alive in it now.
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