Here's the family on a hike. Billy is on the left.
Karen:
Billy was so difficult to manage when he was young. He had (and still has) no ability to occupy himself by playing games or watching tv or anything else the rest of us does. So we had to deal with him in some form virtually every waking hour (we are so lucky that he sleeps through the night, so many of our friends’ kids don’t!). We had to make sure Billy was by our side at all times, and not even in a different room, which was so difficult because he was an escape artist extraordinaire.
One way we, as well as other families with autistic kids that we knew, handled this is by buckling him up in the car and going somewhere. It was such a relief to just drive, so that we could sit down and know that he couldn’t go anywhere.
Billy and I also both love walking. We take a walk every day, even still, and we both love getting out. In order to kill a couple of hour on a weekend, I developed a habit of driving Billy 20 minutes away to a place where we liked to hike. Of course there were plenty of places to hike nearby, even in our own town, but then I wouldn’t get the peace of the 20 minute drive, both ways. This poem describes my experience of seeking that calm that the drive and walk provided.
India:
This piece takes its tone from a walk that I took with Billy and Karen (and Tamara) on a visit to Karen's home. I loved it when Karen and Billy sang.
Walking
There’s a season in between
When the woods are gray and green;
When winter’s gone, but spring’s not quite
Taken hold with all its might.
Our woods are twenty minutes drive
And for that time I must survive
Whatever music Bill would like
As prelude to our weekday hike.
I never mind. The ride is good
And once we clear the neighborhood
Some small part of me gets clear
Of cares I live with all the year.
The freshened air is further balm
And soon we’re in the woods, where calm
Grows deeper with each step we place
Away from car and parking space.
Bill would rather walk than talk,
And I’m content with squirrel or hawk
And my son’s quiet company
In this realm of stream and tree.
Though sometimes Bill will sing a song
If I consent to sing along,
Ad we hold hands that swing in time
Through the shadow and sunshine.
Our tramp is never very far
Too soon we turn back to the car;
Too soon my mind starts taking stock,
Recalling coffee cup and clock.
There’s a season in between
When the woods are gray and green
When winter’s never coming back
And spring is just ahead, on track.
