The postcard postmarked Sept. 30, 1914 is graced with a penny stamp bearing the head of George Washington. The front image of the card is a photograph of my hometown, North Branch, when all the streets were dirt.

The cursive message on the opposite side was penned by my grandfather Irving Anderson. He writes: Dear Mother, How are you? I am feeling fine and hope you are the same. I sleep good nights. I suppose you are in full swing with the potato digging now. Greet papa.

From Irving

When I read that card I am reminded of the sacrifice that my grandfather’s parents (my great grandparents) made for him. He was an only child which in itself is odd for a farming family at the turn of the twentieth century.  His parents insisted he complete twelve years of education. Most of his schooling took place in a country school less than three miles from their farm. He walked to and from school most days. I used to hear that when conditions were really cold, his father might harness a horse to a cutter sleigh, heat some irons on the woodburning stove and then put them under a horsehide blanket for warmth and transport his son to school. But mostly it was walking to and from school.

To secure a high school diploma he would have to go to the North Branch School seven miles away. So instead of walking fourteen miles every day, he boarded closer to the school during the week and then walked seven miles home on Fridays and then made the same trek on Sundays back to his lodging in North Branch.  Perhaps he didn’t go home every weekend but I suspect he missed few as they could use his help on the farm. Being alone, away from the home place he could more easily concentrate on his studies. It paid off. He was the valedictorian of the Class of 1917.

I suspect on those walks from home to town and back, he went over his classwork, new ideas, memorization and so on.

During my grandfather’s high school years, his father hired Milton Peterson to help on the farm. When Milton was in his nineties he shared a story with me that  involved leading a roped cow for over a dozen miles to deliver it to a farm up near Rush City. After dropping off the cow he turned around and walked those miles back home for supper. He shared the tale without any sense of gloating. It was just another day of work. 

Today, if anyone walks 24 miles in a day it has to be posted on social media. It seems what used to be the ordinary is now a loud proclamation of “Hey look at what I did!”  

A century ago walking was no big deal. No one had apps encouraging them to “get their steps in.” Now it seems almost newsworthy if you are able to get your 10,000 steps in every day. I confess, I’m not immune to such utterances as shown in these blog entries.

For most of our long history as a species, we have been walkers. We didn’t live in one place. The template of “Home Sweet Home” is only a recent practice among our species. (“Recent” in this case means since the Agricultural Revolution some 14,000 years ago, which is very recent in the map of our existence.)

 Until we poked seeds in the ground and domesticated animals we were always on the move. We paused at seasonal camps if there was an abundance of food, such as a run of salmon, a herd of bison, a patch of berries or a shallow lake covered with thick stands of wild rice. Or we might have had seasonal camps to better cope with the extremes of heat and cold. 

Eventually, less than 20,000 years ago, we domesticated the horse to carry or pull us. But even then, we two-leggeds mostly walked. 

Only in the past one hundred plus years have we divorced ourselves from the natural elements and transported ourselves in trains, autos and airplanes. 

Walking has even been pulled away from our children’s lives. Very few children walk to school even if they live less than a mile from the school. A walk would be beneficial to their health.

I suspect it is fear that keeps parents from letting the kids walk home. There seems to be a subliminal message that children will be abducted..

The reality is that various studies have shown that child abductions are far less than they were in the 1960s and 70s. In recent years most abductions are statistically more likely to perpetrated by a relative of the child. Sadly our actions only make it more likely that the child will grow up with the same fears.  

Recently, while babysitting our granddaughter in the Bay Area of California, Nancy and I drove over to Berkley to spend some time at the infamous Moe’s Books. After parking we began walking the mile or so to the bookstore. At one intersection we paused, waiting for the green “walk” sign. There was a disheveled man talking to another street person. The tenor of their conversation was friendly. As they parted, the disheveled guy gave a wave and said, “Good luck with your locomotion!”

I wish the same for you dear reader. Good luck with your locomotion.