Last week, we decided to drop by somewhere. It was a holiday (like today) and we wanted something no-frills, something light and leisurely. Somewhere that would relieve us of cares and expectations. Somewhere that would take us wherever it might.
So by a stroke of inspiration, the Hort Park it was. And off we went—to a green oasis nestled in urbanity, lovely, idyllic, and shielded from the motor traffic and the city bustle. There we enjoyed one of the rare moments when we’d leave out the chores and take our time to walk and breathe and walk some more. We were free; unfettered by our usual daily rush to beat the clock. And you couldn’t imagine how great that felt.
"Check out the red hot cattail!" (Yeap, that's its name)
"That's a picnic spot right there!"
We’d stop whenever we felt like it, at any spot we fancied. The themed gardens, ponds, forests, butterflies as large as my hand. We’d linger there for as long as we wanted. The experience was slow and immensely cleansing. Never mind the sun or the sultry weather. The oxygen-rich environment of the park left us feeling less fatigued than we'd expected, and had all of us walking more than we were prepared to.
We never expected what our little outing had in store for us. But the surprise was there, waiting.
When Joel suggested trekking our way to the canopy walk we agreed right away. Amos threw out his fists, gave a resounding “yay!” and off we went again, not knowing where or how far the canopy walk was. If we knew then that it was to be an unsheltered, 1.2km trudge from where we started, we’d have gone into the air-conditioned café for waffles and ice-cream instead. (We were all in flip-flops! What’d you expect?)
Anyway, ignorance is bliss. So by the time Amos started complaining we had gone too far to turn back. We urged him on, coaxed him with treats of ice-cream and had him tottering as far as his stumpy little legs could take him. He lumbered up a good length of an incline before he had to crouch and rest. Then I had him walking to the top before I would carry him. And when I finally picked him up, the smile he gave was priceless.
“Can we just forget about the canopy-thingy?”
Unbelievably, Amos had walked about a kilometre in the heat, before I had to carry him for the remaining 200m up winding paths and long flights of stairs to reach the canopy walk. It might not seem much to the regular person but—well—for everyone who knew Amos and his battle with hypotonia—you know how big a deal that was.
We cheered. Amos’ ability to persevere through the walk (however grudgingly) and the endurance of his hypotonic muscles had surprised and awed us. It marked a significant psychological and physiological milestone in his developmental journey. And it turned out to be a tremendous experience for Joel too, who tackled the exhausting trek in stride (and also in his flip-flops) and led his brother by example, never minding the scorching sun or his drenched clothes.
At the canopy walk we got Amos tramping a little farther, somewhere to the middle of the trail. By the time we got to a rest stop Amos was deadbeat. There, serenely nestled in nature, amid the treetops and the scent of wild flowers Amos crouched to rest. We called him over for a picture. He wouldn’t budge. He kept stubbornly still like a static exhibit. And how amusing when Joel should exemplify that by going over and posing with him instead!
“Don’t—touch me!”
“Yes, just take the picture right here. I’m not moving.”
If there’s anything you ought to know about Amos is that he hated drinking plain water. And it was precisely this that we abstained from flavoured drinks. But after we descended from the trail Amos grabbed his water bottle and drank like a horse.
What can I say? Workouts work wonders.
Water parade