17

Going on a walk with a toddler is harder to do than one might think. Especially, when you eschew a stroller. Exponentially, if she is walking around with an orange, micro-fiber towel draped over her head. It certainly tests the bounds of one's patience. 

It was an odd late-summer day weather-wise. Overcast but warm-ish. I thought that Willa and I could take a walk down to Columbia Cemetery to forage for crabapples. I had botched the canning of a batch of crabapple marmalade a few days ago and was seeking redemption. Willa had never walked that far on her own, but this only appealed to my (modest) sense of adventure. So, we set off- me, carrying a canvas sack for the crabapples, and Willa, holding onto an orange, microfiber towel that she refused to part with.

I had imagined that we would be walking side-by-side, taking in the splendor of the world together. But, in actuality, I walked and Willa lagged behind, the towel trailing on the ground behind her. Hoping that she would catch up to me, I stopped at some Mirabelle plum trees and sampled one of the small, blushing, orange plums. The flesh was hard and tasted bitter. Willa, noticing that I was eating something, hurried over to me. I let her taste one and, as expected, she spat it out but tried a few more, you know, just in case.

Eager to move on, I enticed Willa to walk a little further by walking over to a large lavender bush and squatting down in front of it to watch the bees at work. She had never seen real bees before, only images in books. Watching, she excitedly made the "bzzzzzz" sound and leaned in closer. I thought, perhaps, to get a better look until she popped her binkie out of her mouth and held it out to them- an offering. Oh the sweetness! After I explained to her why the bees would not be interested in a binkie, she popped it back into her mouth. We watched the bees diligently drift from bloom to bloom a few minutes longer and, then, continued our walk.

I spied some promising-looking damson plums hanging on a branch. I picked one and rubbed the flesh gently with my thumb to reveal dark, purple skin. I took a bite and it was perfect. Still tart but flavorful. I picked a few more, pitted some of them with my teeth, and handed pieces of the flesh to Willa who ate them with gusto. I held a few back in my hand for motivational purposes but Willa insisted on having them all at once. Our progress at this point became halting because Willa was trying to hold onto three plums, the orange towel, and my hand at the same time only she couldn't quite pull it off. She shuffled and reshuffled the plums and blanket to no avail. After much struggle, she dropped two of the three plums. Priorities, I guess. 

We crossed the street and I could tell by the traffic that it was after-school pick-up time. We saw lots of parents with younger children walking toward the school. At one point, we were overtaken by a man with a little boy on his shoulders. From behind, I overheard him ask his son "Hey, how come that little girl is walking on her own and I still have to carry you?" I laughed and told him over my shoulder that the going was much slower this way. As they passed, he laughed and conceded the point. 

When we had finally reached the cemetery, I opened the gate and motioned for Willa to go ahead. She took a step toward the opening, hesitated, then, turned toward the schoolyard. I suspected that she was looking for the blackberry brambles that we'd been snacking from all summer long. With a quick maneuver, I redirected her into the cemetery, trying to assuage her frustration with a reminder about the yummy crabapples that we found in there the last time we had walked through. I marched ahead with determination, casting a backwards glance every once in a while. Willa followed along at her own pace, which is to say, she walked until she found a desirable stick or interesting stone, a friendly dog to pet, or children walking along the other side of the cemetery fence to watch and call out to. In the meantime, the sun made an appearance and, all of a sudden, it was hot. I thought to myself that I should have brought her water bottle and hat.

Nearly overcome with impatience, we had finally reached the crabapples trees. Willa immediately started to pick through the fallen crabapples and I began to pluck them from the tree. They were so red that they seemed to glow and slipped right off the branch into my greedy hands. For a time, I lost myself in the picking. Quick glances around revealed Willa lingering over headstones, wandering over to other crabapple trees, and, finally, sitting in the shade of one of the trees. She seemed content to stare out on the traffic on 9th street. When I had picked what I thought was four pounds of fruit, I called out to her to follow me home.

Walking on, I looked back to see if she was following me and I couldn't help but laugh. She was weaving back and forth in the opposite direction. The orange towel was draped over her head. A short, orange ghost stalking Columbia Cemetery in broad daylight. The comical sight dissipated the exasperation that I had been feeling and a deep sense of gratitude welled up within me. If I weren't here with her right now, if I hadn't chosen to leave the stroller behind, if I had given up earlier and retreated for home, I would have missed this...glorious childishness. 

Miraculously, she did not bump into or trip over anything. Ignoring the urge to pick her up and carry her out of the cemetery, I followed her lead. From time to time, the towel slipped off her head, which was very frustrating to her. Each time, I helped her put the towel over her head again. By happenstance, she led us to another gate that let us out of the cemetery. And, as suddenly as the game had begun, she asked to be picked up, still wearing the towel over her head. So, I hoisted her into my arms- a tiny orange ghost sporting purple-striped leggings. It wasn't cool but it also wasn't sunny again. I started to sweat a little anyways as I carried her and my sack of crabapples back up the hill.