by Cassidy Nunn | photo by Nunn Other Photography –
“Meow meow?” my 20-month-old daughter asks, pointing earnestly at our neighbour’s driveway. It was about six months ago, when our neighbourhood strolls first began, that she saw a cat in that particular driveway. Only once did she see that cat – just once! And yet every day for the past half a year she’s checked eagerly to see if it may have returned. She’s not too bothered after I tell her “sorry sweetie, no meow meow today.”
Off we go, onward for a good solid three steps before she stops to point excitedly at a soggy leaf on the ground. She tries to scoop it up, but her hands are too full: she’s brought along one of her many stuffed horses for the walk, plus her favourite book, which now is so tattered from its many adventures and read-throughs that you’d be hard pressed to make out the title (but it’s horse themed as well, and I feel a small sense of joy that my hopes she’ll follow in my horse-loving footsteps are proving true). She moves the stuffed horse to her book-filled hand and expertly squeezes it under her armpit so her right hand is freed up. She picks up the wet leaf and very seriously places it in the red wagon I’m pulling. A random collection of various household objects have come along for this walk: a zucchini from the garden, my husband’s baseball cap, an empty pail, a dustpan and a blanket.
With her now empty hand, she pats the bushes at the base of another neighbour’s drive. They’re a bit prickly and she pulls her hand back, searches my face as if to see if she should be concerned, before gently patting them again, experiencing the texture. A seaplane flies overhead and her arm shoots up to the sky as she throws her head back and points, a wide smile showing off her few small teeth.
We do this so often now that on the rare occasions when I’m out without my daughter, I find myself instinctively wanting to point to the sky every time I hear the whirr of a helicopter, so ingrained has the action already become. It’s the same when I drive by sheep – if she’s not in the vehicle with me, I have to stop myself from exclaiming “sheepies!” out loud.
Suddenly, as if she’s remembered a very important place she has to be, she bolts toward the next yard – see ya later Mum! She’s off to visit the stone statue of a donkey which she insists on feeding (palm flat, just like I’ve taught her for feeding horses) as she mutters “num, num, num.” After we’ve given the statue its nummies, we say our goodbyes and march on.
Some days it takes us close to an hour to walk our block. On others, we don’t even make it off our own property or occasionally there’s a meltdown mid-walk and we have to turn back. So while the walk is a part of our routine, it’s not a guarantee. Having a toddler gives a whole new meaning to the term “stop and smell the roses;” that’s exactly what she has taught me to do. I’ve come to love and look forward to our daily neighbourhood dawdles. It forces me to slow down, observe more intently, to breathe in the fresh air and get outside no matter the weather. We’ve now met all our neighbours and we’re really enjoying our newfound sense of community.
