It was 1955. She was 67 years old. She’d survived more than 30 years of a violently abusive marriage. She’d borne and raised 11 children and cared for 23 grandchildren. She’d grown up on and toiled on small farms and homesteads her whole life. She’d always found refuge in walking the great outdoors.
Now she could finally get away. She made her way from southern Ohio by bus, plane, and taxicab to the top of Mt. Oglethorpe in Georgia. On May 2, she started walking. She walked up and over mountains; across streams and rivers; across fields of neck-high weeds and tranquil meadows; through sun, snow, rain, and hurricane (literally). She walked through seven pairs of tennis shoes. She relied on the hospitality of strangers, on the generosity of nature, on her own strength.
“Grandma” Emma Gatewood stopped walking on September 25 after 2,050 miles, at the summit of Mt. Katahdin in Maine, where the first rays of sun touch the U.S. each morning. She was only the fifth person known to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail (AT), and the first woman to do so solo. By the time she finished, she was the talk of the country. When asked, for the umpteenth time by another reporter, “Why?”, she answered, “Because I wanted to.”
Actually, Emma Gatewood didn’t really stop walking. Nineteen months later, she set out again from Mt. Oglethorpe, summitting Mt. Katahdin 4-1/2 months later, the first person to thru-hike the longest trail in the world twice. She climbed six mountains in the Adirondack Range in 1958 at age 70. In 1959 she walked from Independence, Missouri to Portland, Oregon, re-tracing the Oregon Trail to commemorate the Oregon Centennial. She hiked the AT for a third time, in sections. She walked and helped build trails around her home in Ohio. She didn’t stop walking and traveling and exploring until one day in 1973 when she didn’t feel well and died a few days later.
It’s 2018. A few days ago, someone, having seen me walking home from church, asked whether I’d like a ride next time. No, thank you. I prefer walking, feeling the ground beneath my feet, hearing the soulful coo of a mourning dove, feeling the breeze brush my face, saying “hello” to a stranger, moving in this beautiful world at a pedestrian pace.
In the 1950’s, Emma Gatewood, and other social observers of the day, bemoaned the addiction of Americans to their cars. Today, walking is often seen as something to be remedied by a ride.
I’m inspired by Grandma Gatewood. The car will stay in the carport as often as possible. I’m going to get out of that insulated motorized bubble and get out into life. I’m walking. Maybe the more I walk (or bike), the simpler my living will become, little by little. And maybe someday I’ll even walk the John Muir Trail, because I want to.
(Check out—a walk to the library, perhaps?—Grandma Gatewood’s Walk: The Inspiring Story of the Woman Who Saved the Appalachian Trail, by Ben Montgomery. It’s a spell-binding read. Emma Gatewood was his great-aunt.)