From What Can a Body Do?: How We Meet the Built World by Sara Hendren (Riverhead Books, 2020):
In any sizable park or green space, you’ll likely find two kinds of paths: the formal kind, paved with brick or concrete, and the informal kind, the paths made by people walking over and over a stretch of grass, wearing away the green and carving a scruffy emergent line in its place. These are paths made by sheer repetitive use; they’re not anyone’s executive decision but arise one choice at a time, collected in aggregate. Most of us know them as friendly disobedience: they’re shortcuts, maybe, or just the most commonsense pathway from one frequented site to another. Urban planners call these paths “desire lines,” or sometimes “cow paths,” “pirate paths,” or the slightly stuffier “counter-grid trajectories.” They indicate yearning, some planners say—either to have formal paved lines where there are none or to actively carve out a different path where one had been prescribed.
From What Can a Body Do?: How We Meet the Built World by Sara Hendren (Riverhead Books, 2020):
In any sizable park or green space, you’ll likely find two kinds of paths: the formal kind, paved with brick or concrete, and the informal kind, the paths made by people walking over and over a stretch of grass, wearing away the green and carving a scruffy emergent line in its place. These are paths made by sheer repetitive use; they’re not anyone’s executive decision but arise one choice at a time, collected in aggregate. Most of us know them as friendly disobedience: they’re shortcuts, maybe, or just the most commonsense pathway from one frequented site to another. Urban planners call these paths “desire lines,” or sometimes “cow paths,” “pirate paths,” or the slightly stuffier “counter-grid trajectories.” They indicate yearning, some planners say—either to have formal paved lines where there are none or to actively carve out a different path where one had been prescribed.
From What Can a Body Do?: How We Meet the Built World by Sara Hendren (Riverhead Books, 2020):
In any sizable park or green space, you’ll likely find two kinds of paths: the formal kind, paved with brick or concrete, and the informal kind, the paths made by people walking over and over a stretch of grass, wearing away the green and carving a scruffy emergent line in its place. These are paths made by sheer repetitive use; they’re not anyone’s executive decision but arise one choice at a time, collected in aggregate. Most of us know them as friendly disobedience: they’re shortcuts, maybe, or just the most commonsense pathway from one frequented site to another. Urban planners call these paths “desire lines,” or sometimes “cow paths,” “pirate paths,” or the slightly stuffier “counter-grid trajectories.” They indicate yearning, some planners say—either to have formal paved lines where there are none or to actively carve out a different path where one had been prescribed.
When I was at MIT from the mid-80s to mid-90s, the term "nerd path" was used to refer to a dirt track through a grassy area in which the grass had been worn away by people walking the shortest path between two points (especially buildings). There are several references online: MIT Museum, Slice of MIT, and Twitter. As far as I can tell, the term was only widely used at MIT. Not to be confused with a nerd's career path, akin to the hero's journey.
Comments by ellensf
ellensf commented on the word pirate path
From What Can a Body Do?: How We Meet the Built World by Sara Hendren (Riverhead Books, 2020):
October 17, 2020
ellensf commented on the word cow path
From What Can a Body Do?: How We Meet the Built World by Sara Hendren (Riverhead Books, 2020):
October 17, 2020
ellensf commented on the word desire path
From What Can a Body Do?: How We Meet the Built World by Sara Hendren (Riverhead Books, 2020):
In any sizable park or green space, you’ll likely find two kinds of paths: the formal kind, paved with brick or concrete, and the informal kind, the paths made by people walking over and over a stretch of grass, wearing away the green and carving a scruffy emergent line in its place. These are paths made by sheer repetitive use; they’re not anyone’s executive decision but arise one choice at a time, collected in aggregate. Most of us know them as friendly disobedience: they’re shortcuts, maybe, or just the most commonsense pathway from one frequented site to another. Urban planners call these paths “desire lines,” or sometimes “cow paths,” “pirate paths,” or the slightly stuffier “counter-grid trajectories.” They indicate yearning, some planners say—either to have formal paved lines where there are none or to actively carve out a different path where one had been prescribed.
October 17, 2020
ellensf commented on the word nerd path
Thanks, ry, I hadn't known that term. It has a better definition than the one I wrote.
October 2, 2020
ellensf commented on the word nerd path
When I was at MIT from the mid-80s to mid-90s, the term "nerd path" was used to refer to a dirt track through a grassy area in which the grass had been worn away by people walking the shortest path between two points (especially buildings). There are several references online: MIT Museum, Slice of MIT, and Twitter. As far as I can tell, the term was only widely used at MIT. Not to be confused with a nerd's career path, akin to the hero's journey.
October 2, 2020