Perambulating Without Purpose

The Frying Pan River in Basalt in full autumn splendor

Where my home village is depends a bit on the definition used and to whom I am speaking. Judging on the basis of where the heart really is, my home village is a tiny little speck on the map and is one of the last remaining places in New England to engage in a very specific, oddly interesting, super cool activity from a bygone age. The village sits in the precise Northwestern corner of Connecticut, with the town’s Western boundary butting up against New York and its Northern boundary against Massachusetts. Every year the citizens of the town of Salisbury, Connecticut engage in an official perambulation – volunteers walk the boundaries of the town to make sure that the neighboring states are not encroaching or otherwise committing any sort of land grab. I love it. The very idea of a perambulation through the dense forests, deep ravines, and rocky hills of the remote and rural Northwest Corner fills me with a real sense of Yankee pride. I imagine warming up at the end of a long day of perambulating at the inn on the village green with some locally pressed warm apple cider in a way that would transport me to a slower, kinder, more wholesome place where cell service and internet speeds are irrelevant, the farm-to-table movement is known as “eating”, and non-dairy milk is an oxymoron.

This little jaunt down Nostalgia Street does beg the question: what the heck is a perambulation anyway? Can you perambulate in an unofficial capacity and without a specific purpose? How does a perambulation differ from a stroll, an amble, or a wander? And why would we care?

Technically, according to Merriam Webster, “perambulate” is a verb whose transitive form means “to travel over or through, especially on foot” or “to make an official inspection of (a boundary) on foot”. The intransitive form means simply “stroll”. So, let’s call “perambulator” one of those archaic but somehow perfectly descriptive terms, sort of like the “victualist” who makes your drinks in the tavern on the village green at the end of a long day. And yet, if “perambulate” is evocative, we still haven’t answered the usage question: how is it different from a mere stroll, an amble, or a wander?

My point here is a simple one. We can have a detailed conversation about whether a stroll is more directed than an amble, a wander lacks definitive purpose, and a perambulation takes us around the boundaries, but the effort in articulating the standard for how these terms differ requires slowing down, taking the measure of the path taken and its speed, and considering the nuances. To be clear, in my mind considering nuances is rarely something to be done quickly. One must move slowly, review the options, observe your surroundings, maybe sit over a cup of coffee and ask the friends you encounter for their view, and let some fresh air awaken your lexicographic preferences.

Yesterday was a stunning autumn day here in Basalt, Colorado. Warm in the sun and cool in the shade, cloudless, a light breeze, no crowds, little traffic, and the ever-present sounds of our two rivers burbling-by. I walked to the town center for a nice lunch at my favorite café where I bumped into and joined three of my favorite ski pros from Aspen Snowmass who were out enjoying an al fresco catch-up, milking every last warm day before we all fully commit to the approaching winter. The route I chose from where I live to our tidy little downtown was the long way around rather than the most direct route – I perambulated. I may also have strolled but I definitely didn’t wander. Afterwards, with a full belly and a relaxed mind and spirit, I may have ambled home after our long, leisurely meal and wonderful conversation.

I am not in a hurry for winter to arrive. I do hate rushing, and I do enjoy taking my time to experience the world around me and the people in it. I appreciate making the most of the remaining warm days of Autumn. And I do realize that this is a luxury of the life that I’ve chosen, especially during shoulder season. Soon enough each of us will be running around making the magic happen for our winter guests and, yes, skiing at speed with the wind in our faces. All the more reason to stroll around the boundaries when we can. Maybe I can even find some decent cider in the farmers’ market.