Our New Year’s Walk

When I was growing up, New Year’s Day was not a celebrated holiday in our home. Rather, it signified the end of the fun. My grandmother and Al had left to return to Yonkers, school was getting ready to start, and worst-of-all, my mother swept through the house like a tornado taking down the tree and any remnants that existed of Christmas—tinsel and all.

I’m still not a huge fan of the day. I don’t like resolutions, and looking back at the past year makes me sentimental. One thing I’ve adapted over the years is getting into the woods on New Year’s Day. Many parks have taken up the act by sponsoring events for families and pets alike.

Yesterday, Joe and I participated in our own special walk along with our nine-year-old grandson, Rockland, and our unknown-of-age dog, Stella. Rockwood Park is near our home and often a go-to for walks. We started with a book walk of Tree Hugs (Abrazados), through which Rockland ran at a rapid pace. We continued through the gardens surrounding the museum which we entered so he could get a hot cider and a protein bar.

Since he was little, he’s been climbing the Weeping Elm that is tucked away in a far part of the gardens. Yesterday was no exception. What was different this time was that he lost his footing, slid along the gnarled trunk and landed on all fours like a cat. It was quite impressive.

We continued into the wooded area—my favorite. He can identify a beech tree by the smooth trunk that looks like sand, and sadly, by the initials carved into its smooth surface. The Sycamore is one of my favorites with its peeling, camouflaged bark, and spiky seed balls hanging from its branches. I notice that there are few birds to be seen and no woods animals in sight.

After our time among the trees, we made our way back to the museum where visitors had written in chalk along the road—Happy New Year—and other such greetings. It felt good to be with others, but also to be our own little group. Stella garners a lot of attention because of her diminutive size and graying muzzle. Joe is only happy to speak to anyone who wants to know more about her.

Rockland and I wander, and notice. He finds the sleigh where we take photos. I think about the treasure of being with him. I consider the first bird I saw this year—the wren; and his—the house sparrow. I like marking these moments and wonder about what lies ahead.

My energy wanes as I suggest we head back to the car. Rockland runs ahead at high speed leaning into the curved walkway that proceeds down a steep path from the park to the lot. Stella tries hard to catch up with him. I marvel at how fast he is. I am thankful I can walk and feel the winter sun on my skin. I wonder if I will ever be able to run like that again.

We arrive home where we are greeted by the two labs who stayed behind. The lights on our Christmas tree remain lit. I enjoy the sparkle and the extra light they emit. My decorations will come down soon, but not today. Today, I will embrace both the gift of 2024 and the gift of 2025. I will put my feet up and live in the moment I’ve been given, enjoying each and every breath.