Good morning, how are you all doing? Tom really enjoyed all of your wonderful (and hugely helpful) responses to yesterday’s post – and I suspect you’ll see him following up many of these paper folding leads quite soon. . . .
It’s rather blustery and rainy here today (though the weather is less severe than that what’s currently being dealt with by our friends in Shetland and Fair Isle) and my morning walk definitely seemed much quieter. In recent days, I’ve been enjoying the sight of meadow pipits, parachuting about in their crazy display flights, but today there was only a lone familiar raven, riding the high air currents and avoiding the mobbed attentions of a gang of crows. Fewer birds then, but I did glimpse what was probably the largest brown hare I’ve ever seen, bounding away from me at speed across the windblown muir. I love watching hares at this time of year – and I’ll definitely keep my eyes peeled for this one again tomorrow!
A strong wind is one of those things that can easily throw my body off balance, and has (on many an occasion) knocked me over. Here’s another of my poems about post-stroke walking, and falling.
Protective measures
Know that
your body’s an
un-balance in which
all boots will be
weighed and found wanting.
Grant that
in vague discomfort
is vouchsafed the gift
of your upright volition.
Fathom what lies ahead
water? brambles? scree?
you know that ice on these worn stones turns this part of the path banana-slick.
Question your every move.
At the start, you counselled one arm to be more like the other
it took a while for you to learn that it can only be itself.
Still, you
feel the muscles of the thigh pick up the rhythm of their instruction from the brain,
see how
the ankle flexes and
obediently
pivots forward.
Size up your limbs’ capacity:
you think you’ve come to know
their bounds of time and distance
but they are still able to surprise you with their
thus far and no further.
Count it out:
2, 3, 4
take things gently but
keep up the pace
recall that at a standstill your own form cannot bear the weight of you.
Don’t let the dogs get under your feet
don’t pull up short
don’t turn your head for snipe or raven.
Ready yourself:
step forth in the knowledge that today’s fall is, in effect, already here,
not just possible, but likely.
Walk with the path’s margin always to your left
(so that, when you tumble, you will land on giving ground)
then, as the leg buckles, as the body collapses, throw out your arms to
embrace with abandon the welcoming earth.
Get to know ditches, puddles, tussocks
become happily indifferent to mud
regard each soft encounter with moss or sand as
a kind of benediction.
Accustom yourself to the everyday occurrence of what
to others seems indignity
wash the stains and grazes and
allow each ache to tell out its own story.
Take what comes:
retain
proportion
before
the shapes your wonky body throws
laugh in the face of every fall and
wear a coat for falling.
The image at the top of this post is a photograph by Tom, entitled Stravaigin’ no.1. The stravaigin’ figure is me.
KDD & Co 
Kate, I am very much enjoying your poetry and your perspective. Thank you.
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This is lovely. Thank you.
I want to be someone who thinks of the “the welcoming earth” on my downward trajectory, but somehow, I’m always so shocked to be falling there is no room for conscious thought. Maybe I need to build up my perspective as well as my falling skills. Of course, this will be more effective if I’m also walking in “unimproved” nature. Our country road, no matter how quickly it devolves back into a dirt trail, is not very welcoming to the visitor who unexpectedly meets it knees and wrists first.
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I love It! Excellent!
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Many years ago, when I was on a gymnastics team, my teachers insisted we learn how to fall before we learned how to tumble. I was never a good gymnast but I am excellent at falling.
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falling well is a very useful skill!
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I fall terribly (wrists and knees first). I always have… I have been actively trying to learn to do it better with my PT, and slowly, incrementally, I’ve gotten better at it. I wonder why some people, like my spouse, seem to be intrinsically good at it, and some people seem so rigidly attached to being vertical? Both spouse and I are life-long athletes (I’m a swimmer, he’s a runner), but he falls, rolls and is back on his feet almost before I comprehend what’s happening. When I fall, it’s like Gulliver with the Lilliputians …
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This was a very interesting post. About 10 years ago, and to maintain my balance, I started walking with two canes, particularly when on any surface that wasn’t flat and unyielding. It helped enormously and allowed me to walk much further and out into the natural areas, particularly around the nearby Great Pond and ocean beaches that I so dearly love. Then after one knee replacement six years ago I thought about having the second done but back issues have worsened (I blame a lot on several incidences of Lyme Disease courtesy of those nasty little suckers — the tick family) and I realized that even if I went ahead my mobility would continue to be limited. I continue to use the canes which keeps me safe and much more confident. Here, on the island where I live, I find that the men in my age group often have shoulder problems (the result of many years of hard and heavy work) while women trip or stumble and fall, put their hands out and break their wrists. That is a very difficult recovery as one’s ability to do just about anything (particularly if it is your dominant hand!) is so restricted. One friend slipped on a muddy patch and broke both an elbow and a wrist and for many months she could do almost nothing which was almost intolerable. I personally know of 7 women who have broken their wrists (one twice) in the past couple of years. None of them was using a cane to steady themselves. In ten years I have fallen once, it was because of uncertain light I missed a step. Fortunately I was basically unhurt (except for my pride). Since then I have decided against the second knee replacement (due to age, side effects which are never mentioned and which can be very annoying as well as medical problems, and the necessity of rigorous adherence and attention to PT). Although you (Kate) and others may be taught how to safely fall, using the two canes is a very viable option and it certainly works for me. My ability to carry something is limited but my ability to move around safely and easily is enormously improved and if I have to stand somewhere I can stand on the good leg and prop myself with a cane for long periods of time. Using canes can be complicated in tall grass or brush as they’ll trip you up but because at 78 plus I am now [finally] very tick averse I stay out of the long grass and bushes anyway!
Please be very careful about your wrists — not having the use of both hands would be SO frustrating for anyone but especially for a knitter!
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you are absolutely right about the wrists, Virginia. In practice, because my left side is so much weaker, and I always fall predictably to the left, I know how to fold the arm ‘in danger’ into my body as I collapse into the ditch or verge – and have happily not broken anything – yet. I use a stick for steep gradients and longer distances, and am certainly then much better balanced! I love sticks! I hope you aren’t in much pain from your back and knees. We walkers keep walking on!
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Your poetry has helped me understand. Thank you.
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I have “spells” of Vertigo and stumble and fall at times…I love your “embrace with abandon the welcoming earth.” All though I tend to wrap my arms to my chest. I could not handle breaking wrists or arms and not knit, spin or weave…Break my nose, not my wrists! (have done the nose , was a good choice for me)
Again thank you for sharing your poetry. Such a gift to us!
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yes, the embrace is more metaphorical – in practice, its more like protect the arms, aim for the ditch, and wait for the inevitable
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Wow, just opened my heart and turned on a wellspring of tears . Ah had a wee greet for the image of you walking ” feet on ground, heart in hand, facing forward being yourself” and a wee greet for the strength you demand of me to face my own particular ” falls ” ,falls which do not endanger my physical body but still can take my feet from under me.
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Very beautiful. I find your poems do an excellent job of conveying the feelings of your experiences. Thank you for sharing, it is certainly a bright spot in my day!
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WOW. Speechless. A tear coming from my eye. Thank you.
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your daily posts remind me to breathe deeply and appreciate life. thank you
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We did our morning walk in rain and strong wind. I am lucky to be an able-bodied and fit 67 year old, and I dress to suit the weather. However I do hate the wind. It knocks me off my walking rhythm, can stop me moving forward altogether, and gives me such sore ears and head.
But I don’t have to think about falling. I cannot imagine what that fear does to a person. ‘and wear a coat for falling.’ I’m surprised you don’t wear full armour! Thank you for your poem, Kate.
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This unexpectedly just about made me cry I had no idea falling was such a regular part of your walks. I am able bodied and love walking, but am always finding excuses not to go out – today’s is a blizzard, and I have the daily excuse of three small children who can’t tolerate cold under -25, or -15 for more than a short time. But even absent those good excuses, I readily give in to the avoidance of small discomforts. I am a long way from learning to embrace the ground. But I pay for it by letting myself get cooped up, in small spaces getting small minded. Thanks for alternative vision of strong will forming life-giving habits in differently-difficult circumstances. Blessings on you.
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A beautifully expressed comment, Rebecca, thank you. And thanks to Kate for a poem which moved me as well as making me smile.
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“In small spaces getting small minded”. Neatly said, and so true.
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I have fallen twice in the last year resulting in a concussion the first time, and a broken rib the second. I have been taking an on-line course on “Aging Well: Falls” and discovered that not only was my knee replacement a risk factor in falling, so was so many other habits I had gotten into, like the fear that created a tiny step gait during poor conditions. I loved the concept of the lines, “step forth in the knowledge that today’s fall is, in effect, already here,
not just possible, but likely.” With that line, an understanding of my risk factors and a mind’s eye in how to trick them, I will play the chess game of falls, hoping to win and hoping losses only take place on soft ground.
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absolutely – it took me a very long time to learn not to be afraid of falling, and to rather focus on managing the idea (and reality) of falls. A game of chess indeed!
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Beautiful. Know that your posts are a real tonic. Best wishes to all the team.
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Hello,
I love that word ‘Wheest’ and here’s a quick story I was told by the spinners and weavers in South Island NZ when I was there a few years back. A lady from Shetland moved to South Island to live with her family after they emigrated. She soon became known all over NZ for the wonderful lace shawls she designed and made. In her older age, the locals around Oamaru decided to honour her. So they put on the mother of all tea parties, the local dignitaries turned up and speeches were made. In a moment of quiet the lady was seen, on her own, looking out of a window shaded with a lace curtain. The lady mayoress started to talk to her but, eventually, the only response she got was ‘Will you wheest woman. I’m trying to work out the lace pattern on the curtain’.
Best wishes,
Sue Byrne
>
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love this, Sue, rings so true
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Although I have a (equivalent to a) master degree in two (foreign) modern languages, where literature made up 40% of both languages, poetry was my least favourite subject (being a linguistics girl anyway ;) ).
I‘m surprised how much I enjoy reading your poetry and how much it speaks to me. :-))
Thank you a lot for opening that path to me; I thought it had definitely been closed.
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As my sight is failing, I echo this. Heeding advice not to put my hands to save me, my face hit hard ground first..
Result – two lost front teeth.
Thank you for your posts. I can’t see Tom’s pictures but I can read your words. Pam
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My mum sent this today. Translation of The Old Wife, by Donald Macauley
You walked, feeble, with your stick, down by the wall: you stopped and lifted the weight of your bent head, you shaded your eyes from the sun. From that shade, you looked around, starting with the spring, then the furrow of the ploughed land, the boundaries of the croft and the mountain and then checked to see that the cow was not trapped.
Then you turned with no space between your feet and the ground, and shuffled stiffly in ( with your stick and a hand on the wall) to the house , where even the threshold had become an obstacle. And you sat there in your seat.
Funny that both came on the same day, painting such different pictures of disability
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As someone with progressive Multiple Sclerosis, this speaks to me with clarity and compassion. The ‘gift of upright volition’ is often uncomfortable, uncertain and unpredictable – but as you say, it is nonetheless a gift. Thank you for this – and for your (and Tom’s) daily posts. They are a very very welcome part of my day.
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I do hope you bring your cell phone when taking your walks.
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So moving.
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