I wonder though, if we pave every desire line that appears, will we end up with an entirely concrete city? Is it really all about shortcutting, or would people continue to chose alternate routes even if the most direct ones were paved?
It’s amazing how many desire lines I notice now that it’s on my mind all the time!

Yes–I’ve been on a couple of campuses that worked that way. And one (UBC) that had eventually to surrender to popular “voting with their feet” patterns, especially around the Student Union Building. Students (of which I was one at the time) avoided the indirect but orderly right-angled sidewalks and took the direct routes across the lawns. Given the rain, these routes became pretty soggy ruts in no time, and left a lot of students with very wet shoes. Last time I was there, there were concrete walkways on the more direct routes.

I’ve been noticing the “desire lines” in my own familiar walking areas since you wrote up your project. Fruitful grounds for speculation.

Another interesting thing to add to that dynamic you’ve described so well: sometimes, the process reverses, and the “planners” save sidewalk building for last, so that they can follow the paths that people have written on the ground around their construction site.

Maria Campbell wrote and spoke about something like this, when she noted that modern people, especially modern First Nations people, have trouble contacting the spirits that still abide in the land, because the spirits are confined under the concrete, and the people need a new kind of ceremony to help them get out into the open, where they can continue their good (or not so good) work. (At least, that is the paraphrased gist of what she said, about the time she was working with Linda Griffiths on a play called Jessica.) Inscribing “softer” footpathways is a way of contacting the more elemental land itself. It is a popular ritual, in effect, saying this is my/our way.