Following the Cow Path

on navigating new terrain

I’ve never been someone who chooses a word of the year or even makes resolutions on New Year’s Day. But in January, I started walking. Not walking with a weighted vest, or a goal to take 42 walks before my 42nd birthday (although I think I came close!). One day, without overthinking it, I put on my coat and boots and took the dog for a walk.

I realize how this sounds, so bear with me, but I thought walking for exercise was lame (sorry, Mom!) and something old people did (again, apologies!). It seemed boring.¹

When my kids were little, the idea of loading one in a stroller and two on bikes or on foot for a walk through a pasture and on gravel roads sounded less than appealing. I know for many moms, taking their kids on a walk is part of their daily routine. Sure, we occasionally walked up and down the road in front of our house, but we never went far. Out here, pushing a stroller on gravel roads leaves much to be desired, and since we’re 15 miles from the nearest paved road, that activity never became part of my routine in young motherhood.

This winter, we’ve had very mild temperatures. There were days in February that hit 70°, which is not normal for Montana. We haven’t had much snow, which made for great walking weather but terrible for our crops and pastures. I know that the warm temperatures made it more appealing to go for a walk. It was easy to slide on my shoes or boots, knowing I wouldn’t face bitter temperatures the second I left the house. There were cold days, to be sure, but by the time those days came, I was in a rhythm of walking, so I bundled up against the cold and went.

In the past couple of months, I’ve come to look forward to the near-daily walks. I crave the crisp air filling my lungs, my calves burning as I dodge the piles of manure up the hill, and the beauty of the open skies around me. I love feeling my muscles move in different ways and the feel of my feet hitting the uneven, rocky ground.

And our dog, Pepper, does too. She comes up to me and barks, not because she needs to go outside, but because she wants to go on a walk. I’ve started spelling W-A-L-K so that she doesn’t hear me say the word and get excited when I’m unsure if I can go right that second. And then, I feel guilty when I don’t go for a walk, as she silently judges me while I sit on the couch.

Each day, we cut the same path, making a two-mile loop behind the house and through the manure-filled pastures. We follow the cow path up the hill, where the cows’ hooves wore the grass down, one cow following another.

In the past few weeks, I’ve watched the brown grass turn green, and a field of winter wheat shoot up from its months of dormancy. Usually, I walk with a podcast or audiobook in my ears, but sometimes, I walk in silence, watching the big blue sky and wispy clouds above me. From the top of the hill, I can see our house and the farm yard around it, which will soon be bustling with tractors and farm equipment as we move into spring seeding. Another season on the horizon.

I know I could have been taking these walks for years. I could have taken them in the evenings when Rich came home, and left the kids with him. Or I could have brought all of the kids with me. (Although I still stand by that not being a pleasant experience.)

But it feels fitting, as I’m walking into this next season of motherhood, that I started walking by myself while the kids are at school. Maybe someday I’ll add a weighted vest, or start jogging (not likely), but I’m not ruling anything out.

In a season when I sometimes feel unsteady, trying to find the new rhythm with all my kids in school, juggling sports’ schedules, farm life, and attempting (unsuccessfully) to find my Second Act career. But during these walks, I embrace the solitude and the unknown—gazing out at miles of open space. It feels good to feel small in a big world.

I know I’m not the first woman to go through this season of life, and I won’t be the last. Out here, my mind clears and often fills with stories and words as I walk.² I’m (usually) not thinking about my to-do list or the laundry piles. Out here, I don’t feel like I have to have everything figured out.

In the coming months, I’ll keep my eye out for rattlesnakes beneath my feet, something I haven’t had to worry about this winter. Despite that, I’m looking forward to walks when the days are longer and the sun shines brighter. In July and August, I’ll watch the combines harvest the crops across the valley, the dust settling on the horizon. But for now, I’ll enjoy where my feet are, not longing for the past or wishing for the future.

Cows carve paths on the hillsides to make it easier to get to and from a watering hole or their favorite part of a pasture. But for me, walking isn’t about the destination or taking the easier path. It’s about feeling the wind on my back, the sun on my face, and the feel of my muscles burning as I find my footing up the hill.

---

This post is a part of the blog tour for Small Steps: Blessings to Lift Your Soul on the Pilgrimage of Life. Small Steps is a book of blessings meant to meet us in our daily lives, in all of the challenges and joys, struggles and triumphs. A few of the blessings include: For a Rough Morning, Listening to a Dream, Learning to Pray Again, and For an Ordinary Tuesday. Order your copy wherever books are sold. Small Steps by Kimberly Knowle - Zeller releases May 5th!³

1. I won’t go on too long a rant, but I will sing the praises of barre workouts to whoever will listen. In February, I completed my 1,600th online barre class; I didn’t think I needed to walk on top of that.

2. Many lines of this essay were written in my head on a walk.

3. Kim’s book releases on what would have been my aunt’s 64th birthday. My aunt, who loved walking with my mom, and I wish I could go on a walk with them—now that I appreciate and understand their love of walking. 💛

---