Where the Sidewalk Ends

For my moving through space activity I decided that I wanted to use Macadam street as
my subject for study as I live just a few blocks off of it so I find myself using this piece of road
almost daily. When completing the observations section of this activity my mind kept bringing
me back to the Shel Silverstien poem titled “Where the Sidewalk ends.” 1 I have copied it below
and I would suggest reading it for fun and to think in the way I thought about some of the spaces
I traveled through.
Everyday I drive to class along macadam ave, zooming as fast as I can without getting a
speeding ticket to get to my destination as quickly as possible, whether that be work, home,
school or something else. The road is an artery to the necessary functions of my day but that’s
all it is; a “thing” for my utilitarian needs. Even when trying to observe the environment around
me it is hard to see anything past my immediate view. I am caught up singing Adele and
guessing the prices of the cars I pass, as we only seem to have cars with a window smashed
out or Rolls Royces’. The signs and stoplights are all pointed at me so that, as a driver, I only
have to do the minimal amount of work to understand the basics of the environment around me
and keep my car safe. Macadam rushes me around at a speed limit of 35 mph (really 50 if you
want to keep up with traffic) until I drop off onto one of the side streets where there are signs
asking you to go less than 15 mph, representing a change in the values of the inhabitants; car
convenience vs pedestrian safety. I thought this would maybe feel different on public
transportation but as I got off the bus at the sellwood bridge I was immediately greeted by a
pungent odor of car exhaust and a wall of sound as cars raced past us. Half of the bus unloaded
at this stop, clearly a fan favorite, with a woman no younger than 80 limping off the front of the
bus while me and a 20ish year old waited. There was no inbetween on the bus, you were either
under the age of 30 or over the age of 70 and nobody looked as though they wanted to be
there. This made me believe that this may be the cheapest mode of transportation for many city
goers but with a $2.50 entry fee I couldn't help but think about how many bus rides it would take
to pay off a car as we slowly lurched between stops. I nearly slipped walking up the stairs to the
back of the bus on a yogurt that appeared to have been growing there for at least a week, so I
can’t imagine how the old man I sat near was able to make it up. It took 3 walk signs to cross
one street as the side of the street we had been unloaded onto had solely a chunk of asphalt for
us to stand to wait for the light, no bench or overhang to protect the elderly from the rain, not to
mention the fact that cars blew right through our crossing sign without even looking up at us.
Once I got to the other side of the road I began walking only to see the sidewalk peter out into a
narrow bike lane on a speeding slurry of cars and trucks. The sidewalk curved away from the
road and doubled back, dipping down towards the water and away from the traffic. Within
minutes it was, relatively, silent, as the few dozen feet that we had given the road had made
human conversation audible again. This new sidewalk I was walking on was twice as wide and
was clearly better maintained as the concrete was smooth and flat as opposed to the gnarled
and cracked pavement next to macadam. I noticed that our sidewalk seemed to follow the
decrepit railroad tracks that clearly hadn’t been used in years but clearly was the basis of the

1 Silverstein, S. (n.d.). Where the sidewalk ends by Shel Silverstein. Where the Sidewalk Ends.
https://www.commonlit.org/en/texts/where-the-sidewalk-ends
planning of this area as the road maps to its west and the river to its right. This is possibly
demonstrating the evolution of transportation through this area of Portland as it slowly raised up
the banks for barges and boats then trains and finally cars just to add a walking area. Along this
path by the train tracks I was able to see the river and people boating and having fun in the sun
which is a view obstructed by buildings nearly your whole drive down Macadam, whether in a
car or bus. Despite living only a few blocks away I discovered little play areas with preteens
creating make believe games or playing with their families. Just a few feet away metal beasts
roared by with rough power to destroy everything around them but to the people playing in the
park it couldn't be more serene. As the sidewalk ended I found something even cooler than a
place, I found a community. Here I sat and reflected on Silverstein's poem as I began to look at
his words in a new light. Maybe the sidewalk ends in a cool park with grasses and moon-birds
but I think he is talking about something else. This “place” is a place within us, where the
development of the world around us leaves for a moment and we can look at the beauty that
came before the sidewalk, and will return when the sidewalk ends.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.