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As a university student who has to work day and night on assignments and homework that takes up most of my time, I realized that there are times of day that I never get to experience. Due to the nature of my school schedule, I often wake up late in the morning (around 10AM) to go to class and will usually return home to my East Village townhouse by 5:30PM. This means that the majority of my time spent outside of my bedroom is in the afternoon; I don’t see the Sun rise and I don’t see the Sun set. This gave me an idea to try getting out of my comfort zone and experience life on campus during times that most people are not outside – at dawn and dusk. I walked the same 1km route at dusk and dawn (from residence to War Memorial Hall), but at dusk I walked back to my residence and at dawn I walked toward WMEM.

The easier kilometer walk that I did first was at dusk because I was already awake and decided to take a later class. I watched the Sun set over Johnston Green and took a timelapse of the changing sky colour until it was dusk. On my way back home, I definitely felt different walking in the darkness by myself without many people around me. It was quiet, I felt really cold and tired, and the only light that could guide me back home came from the fluorescent street lights and the lights from inside the buildings. I definitely became more cautious and observant during my walk because it was a new experience for me and I had never really walked alone in the dark before.

My next kilometer walk was just after dawn. I woke up at around 6:50 AM and walked toward WMEM through the same route I walked for the dusk walk. This walk had a very different aura to it compared to my dusk walk. Although there weren’t many people outside at dusk, after dawn, there was almost nobody. Not a single person walked behind me, but I did pass by a few construction workers and one or two students. The campus was very peaceful and for me, it was a special experience being alone in such a huge space because I knew I was the only one outside doing something while everyone else was asleep.

Of course, 30 minutes after I finished the walk, people started flooding in and the campus was full of life and noise again. However, there was a sense of freedom and excitement that I felt while walking just after dawn because it was only the start of my busy day and without anyone watching me, I could have done anything I wanted, such as using my giant camera to record the campus without people wondering what I was doing. It was surprising to see that our campus seemed more full of life when it was dark than when it was light; the library wasn’t even open, all the lights in the buildings were off and I must emphasize how strange it was to see the busiest part of the campus being so empty. The morning frost over Johnston Green made it a bit eerie once I arrived at my destination and similar to my walk at dusk, Johnston Hall had a magnificent gradient sky behind it, which I took a picture of to conclude my Kilometer Project.

During my walks, I took a few video clips so that people similar to me who don’t usually wake up so early or are outside when it’s dark can get a glimpse of campus life at dusk and dawn.

When brainstorming ideas for my kilometre project, I was especially inspired by the work of Tim Knowles. Looking at his series “Tree Drawings” I found the work “Oak on Easel #1” reminded me of a map. This gave me the idea to appropriate Knowles idea of the tree drawing, but to let the tree draw on a map of my neighbourhood. I then followed the path drawn by a crab apple tree in my backyard (to the best of my ability, the tree had no regard for private property or the limitation of a kilometre). I dropped a variety of seeds on the ground as I walked, to hopefully foster the growth of new plants that will benefit the crabapple tree.

Here is the tree at work:

The drawing the tree produced:

Heres the route I actually walked:

I had to cheat a bit with the tree drawing by putting the marker at the starting point of my house. As I walked I also dropped a variety of seeds on the ground along the tree’s path. My original idea was to drop apple seeds, but couldn’t find anywhere where I could buy crabapple seeds and figured it would be unlikely for any of the seeds to grow successfully in an urban environment anyways. I instead bought seed packets of sage, thyme and catnip. I originally intended to also use shasta daisies (as in included in the photo below) but after doing some research I found out they are potentially invasive to Ontario, and chose not to use them. Thyme, catnip and sage however, are not invasive. They are also supposedly beneficial to bees and butterflies so hopefully, if any end up growing, they’ll be beneficial to the pollination of the crabapple tree as well. I felt slightly criminal dropping seeds on property I don’t own, but I doubt many of them will take and the action was more symbolic than it was an actual gardening effort. Following the path drawn by the tree was interesting because it took me to areas of my neighbourhood I don’t usually make an effort to visit. It was also interesting to take such an abstract and fleeting action (the movement of a marker in the wind) and turn it into something so concrete and potentially long lasting (the planting of seeds along a path).

Step

on a crack,

and you’ll break

your mother’s

back.

This saying echoed endlessly in my head as a child anytime I walked on a road that had cracks in it. For a young girl with severe separation anxiety, each break in the path held detrimental possibilities. Now, I’m not calling myself senseless; I was an intelligent kid (or I like to think so). I knew very well that the integrity of my mother’s back was in no way connected to where my feet fell as I walked/skipped/jumped down the road. It was the tabboo behind it; if there was even the slightest possibility that my mother’s well-being could be jeopardized, I had to do everything in my power to keep it from happening.

My mom is my best friend, and always has been. Having separation anxiety when I was young only drew us closer, and although I outgrew it with time, our bond never faltered. Coming to university and leaving her behind was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. This is why I decided to channel my inner child and walk a kilometer without stepping on a single crack-just like I use to. The purity and innocence that I felt as I hopped down the sidewalk like an idiot, brought me a joy like no other. The best part of it all…the photographer was no other than my mom herself.

So, thank you mom. Thank you for teaching me how to laugh at myself. Thank you for teaching me how to be independent, and how to trust myself like I’ve always trusted you. Most of all, thank you for standing behind that camera in the chilly evening air, with the same smile on your face that I see every time I look in the mirror.

Your back is safe with me.

~Dedicated with love to Maria Zak

Had such a great time with everyone on Tuesday bird tagging in the Arboretum. It was so nice getting to learn about the whole process, and how much time goes into tracking every bird. It was so awesome to be able to handle the birds and it is something that I won’t forget!!

I think I can speak for the class when I say that this was such a great experience for all of us. Actually getting to hold the birds and physically being with nature is a whole different experience then just visualizing it. I never realized how light and delicate the birds were. I have noticed now every time I see a small bird I end up looking at their feet to see if it has been tagged. I realized I have so much more to learn about birds, all their sizes, colours, and different species interest me. How you can tell the age from the feathers shape and so much more. Thank you for this experience!

In this week’s class, we spent about an hour discussing different types of “walking” in class before heading outside to the Arboretum where we would do our own “walk” for about an hour and a half. However, this wasn’t any normal type of walk: it was a silent walk. Led by an intern at Guelph’s Arboretum, we trekked through the forest in complete silence, not making a sound even when we tripped repeatedly over stubborn tree roots.

In  a line, we followed our guide through the woods, open spaces and gardens. We walked by just beautiful scenery, including a couple buildings we were unfamiliar to and even a memorial garden. There was even a patch of unknown (well, to me) mushrooms thriving at one point in our trip. Our senses got to experience a wide spectrum of colour, shape and sound: I personally enjoyed the different hues of yellow and orange above us, how the sun glittered through the trees, and the strong, earthy smell of the leaves and dirt that just reminded me of autumn.

I especially appreciated the sound of the wind that filtered through the treetops (I initially thought it was a river) and, of course, the sounds that were produced as our boots burst through heaps of unattended, dry leaves on the ground. (Turn volume up!)

Dogs, moms, babies and joggers walked past, squeezing by on the well-trodden boardwalk, but for the major part of the trip we were alone–except for the classmates in front and behind of us. In the silence, I believe many of us were just sort of floating in our thoughts, which was certainly an interesting place to be.

After the hour and a half silent walk (or workout, whichever you’d like to call it), we sat down on the leafy grounds in a circle to discuss yet some more about what had just transpired. For myself, I was quite calm and peaceful after that walk, and definitely I’ll be trying it again sometime. Perhaps the walk had inspired some ideas for us about the future Kilometre Project, and changed our perspectives on the art of walking.