The Art Of The Night Walk

I am inventor of the night walk – or so I believed. The concept came to me years ago when my daughters were young. It had been a long and cold winter day and since my girls weren’t yet in school, the kids and I had spent most of the day cooped up inside. Making the day infinitely longer was the knowledge that my husband would be working late. I made dinner ahead of schedule, which meant a longer stretch of free time before our nighttime routine was due to begin. This was when I hatched the idea of the night walk.

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The kids were fascinated by the idea. Their half-hearted protests were more incredulous than anything: “But it’s so late” (it was 6pm). “It’s dark out” (enticingly so). “Are we allowed?” (I’m the boss – so yup).

We bundled up in our winter gear and headed outside. I pegged my invention for the winner it was the second my boot crunched down on snow. Our ordinary street was transformed by the night sky above. The star-studded navy vault overhead blanketed us against the diamond-dusted snow dunes below. And the smell outside was incredible. If cold comfort has a fragrance – it’s the exhilarating combination of evergreen and fireplace.

If you have never before made a snow angel while stargazing – I highly suggest it.

The kids and I tromped up our quiet street and around the next block. We marveled at the glowing rectangles we could see of our neighbours as they ate supper or watched TV and imagined what we looked like through our own cozy rectangle.

We were on an adventure – rediscovering our neighbourhood under the obscure cover of night. And we were the only people outside. Except until we passed mysterious and bundled strangers out with their dogs. We nodded hello because we shared the mutual bond of the night walk.

As the years have passed, our family has changed. We’ve added a son to the mix as well as a golden retriever. Yet we still manage a few night walks each winter. It’s not always easy because it requires an early supper and no homework as well as a night free from obligations, play date pick-ups and after school activities. But it’s still manageable.

Once outside, it takes a bit more time to remind the sullen teens that we are on an enjoyable adventure. That we may very well be the only human beings outside so late on a winter night (they remind me that it’s not yet 6pm). I point out our neighbours watching The Simpsons (they accuse me of stalking). But eventually, even sullen teens succumb to the secret magic of the night walk.

Recently, at the onset of one of our night walks, I had a memory resurface of another night walk; one occurring more than 35 years earlier. The memory has always been there – it’s a happy one I’ve often thought of and I’m sure I’ve recounted it to the kids on many occasions. I just never before realized its significance.

Standing outside, letting cold air fill my lungs, the recollection flashed and I grabbed a hold of it. I pulled until the string of memory lifted, tightening my grasp so I could follow it back to its origins.

It begins with the smell of my mother’s hot rollers boiling on the stove which can only mean one thing: babysitter. And it’s Diana – who is nice and petite and beautiful. She lives behind us and is the older sister of my best friend Carol. It’s a rare treat to have Diana over at our house and not have to share her with Carol.

My parents are gone and Diana, my brother and I are playing a game when there’s a knock on the door. Despite the fact that my brother and I are shocked and curious – Diana seems to have been expecting it. “That’ll be my friend, Cookie,” she explains. Cookie turns out to be a teenaged boy with long, wavy red hair and freckles. In a happy twist, Cookie turns out to be just as much fun as Diana.

After finishing up our game, a night walk is suggested. My brother and I are perplexed. Bundling up in our winter clothes? Going outside for a walk with our hair still damp? At night?  We couldn’t believe our good fortune.

Standing outside, among blue drifts of snow, flakes are still falling from the sky. The smell of cold fresh snow and fireplaces is comforting. Cookie lobs a snowball at Diana before chasing us down the street. We gallop our way to the corner store where Diana lets us each choose a treat. Then back home we go, stopping to make snow angels along the way. The night ends with my brother being tucked in first and Diana painting my fingernails pink. She tells me to keep my hands outside the bedspread facing upward as I drift off to sleep.

All this time and I thought I’d invented the night walk. I was certain it had come to me in a stroke of genius as a way to get the kids outside after a long and boring day spent indoors.

But as it turns out I didn’t invent it. I was reliving it – as well as reliving one of the nicest memories from my childhood.  Even now, when I’m outside in the frigid air, looking at the blue snow and inhaling the scent of comfort – the magic harnessed by the night walk remains.

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