WORK AND MY WALDEN WALKS
Most recently I have been terribly pre-occupied with work, and then there was a flood here at Birch Hollow, when a pin-prick hole developed in a pipe, leading from the hot water heater, causing a book, art and paper collector a " fit of temporary insanity," getting everything away from the wave of nice hot water. Fortunately it happened at a time when all our family members were preparing for bed, and we caught it before there was too much damage. Even in a short period of time, most of the floor was soaked by this tiny spray of water. It has taken almost two weeks to dry out.
On top of this I opted to help a fellow historian edit a book of stories, inspired by his own Muskoka homestead, where he and family have reverted to simpler times, and lesser conveniences that we possess at Birch Hollow. They don’t have water taps as such, but they do have a pump handle. And they don’t have electricity, which by today’s standard in Canada, is pretty much unheard of, unless you happen to be a trapper or prospector in the far north.
His interesting book is a mix of fact and fiction but the background of both is the "roughing it in the bush," chronicle of a new century. While I have great admiration for these hardy souls, when I read the story collection, I can’t help clenching my teeth about all the dire consequences they face daily, with bear and moose, frozen water and isolation. Of course, having suffered greatly from a pin prick in a water line, I’m probably a terrible candidate for the complete homestead lifestyle. Of course, as my colleague notes so eloquently, throughout the book, the environmental joy far outweighs any disadvantage. I agree whole heartedly. It must be marvelous waking up each morning, and staring out at a beautiful pine forest and blue sky, and not hear the sound of earth movers and jack-hammers, too familiar and intrusive in my urban world.
I live more like Thoreau, I suppose, than my friend, because I’m always in close proximity to civilization’s new age conveniences. Thoreau’s sister, I believe, used to deliver fresh baked goods from the family kitchen, out to his humble cabin on the shore of the legendary Walden Pond. I don’t have a cabin over in The Bog, across the lane from our house, but I’ve got plenty of cookies nearby to fuel my latest hike through the pinery.
I haven’t edited a book in awhile, and I’m pretty rusty. As the editor of the former Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge, in the 1980's, I used to work my way through a mountain of hard copy (paper submissions) every week, and I resorted to the non-computer way of handling my latest editing challenge.....preferring instead to have a real manuscript in front of me, versus staring for hours on end, at a wavering computer screen. I’m not sure if my author friend will appreciate these pioneering contributions to his new book. Maybe he won’t be able to read my edit marks, which were passed down through decades of newspaper tradition. The scribbled-on pages actually looked like a wee bit of folk art from the golden years of the community press.
I talked with the author about nature, the other day, and wondered if he felt the same about it all, as when he originally planned his exile into the hinterland. I questioned whether he paid attention to those magnificent sunrises and sunsets, the first winter snow upon cedar boughs, and the first wildflowers of the spring, with the innocence of discovery he had commenced homesteading in the first place. He was admittedly surprised I would ask that question. As I venture into the forest daily for my own respite, I can return later to this office above The Bog, and sit in a comfortable office and write away in relative comfort. Of course I don’t exclude the fact that some time in the day, a water pipe might spring a leak, or I’ll need to replace a board or two on the back deck, or need to improve the drainage of rain water away from the building’s foundation. These are standard to any home owner. But I believe my life as a wanderer and a writer is easier, in many ways, than the survivalist who has to deal with life threatening issues from the get-go each day, based on what he doesn’t possess. As for a response about his appreciation for nature, it was a rigorous rebuttal, that in fact, his was an intense relationship based on his own appreciation of sanctuary, environmental resources, and a farmstead heritage, and the relationship with each sunrise, sunset, each season and every natural event, was the patina of lifestyle. I was the one separated from immersion by choice of convenience. I wasn’t living in a rustic cabin on the moor. I was living in climate controlled luxury on the knoll above nature, in his eyes and opinion. He wasn’t wrong.
Editing through the book was an adventure that for a few days, did keep me tied to my office, yet I have thought about his observations about nature as a close companion, in my recent hiatus periods out, looking affectionately over The Bog.....and I do think some philosophy has rubbed off.....and I’m always eager to find new insight, and a clearer way to look at something that has perplexed me. I thanked him for letting me have a week peak at his tome, and the chance to get another opinion on our precious nature.