There is something to be said for wandering. In a world that has tuned us to the normalcy of plans-plans-plans, there is value in stepping out of our carefully maintained schedules and into the unknown.
Our family found ourselves with a free day last week thanks to a winter break at school. We had originally planned an excursion into New York, but we were all fighting back sniffles and decided to scale back. But we still wanted to do soooomething.
It was at this point that I remembered a one-hundred year old house built on six acres of property near where I used to work. The house and its grounds functioned as a non profit, and I had given them funds through my company’s charitable arm. I had toured the house and surrounding gardens and never quite forgot how magical they seemed, tucked into a bustling town as they were. I brought it up Jim and of course (this is Jim, after all), he was instantly interested and on board. So we loaded into the car and went.
The extent of our planning was grabbing a bag of pretzels and some Valentines chocolate from the kitchen for snacking, and downloading a good audio book for the drive.
Wandering. What happens when we allow ourselves to wander down the dusty trails or old memories or the curiosity of an untraveled path? What power lies in the moment of discovery (or just as delicious, rediscovery)?
For us, exploring on that particular day was exactly what we all needed. The house was locked up, but we peered into every last window, imagining and storytelling along the way. Jim and I strolled through the resting gardens that come with winter, letting the kids run ahead of us on their quest for bird and chipmunk sightings. We stumbled into a greenhouse and the farmer watering the plants within. We chatted with him and learned why our lettuce seedlings have been growing leggy.
There was a little library with books to take tucked deep into the property, and I discovered a beautiful edition of 100 Years of Solitude. The gnarled branches of a wisteria wrapped around the pillars of the mansion fascinated us endlessly and we swore our plans to return when it blooms.
When it was all done and we were back home, defrosting and ready to nestle under blankets on the couch, I considered all the worth that had come from our wanderings. All the little discoveries. All the deep breaths of cold air and joy in simplicity.
May you find room to wander soon. I will. Again and again.
