AN AUTUMN DAY IN THE RAIN - MY WALDEN
I'm going to get drenched out here. It is raining hard now, and the overhead canopy of colored maple leaves and birch, and the towering, venerable old pines are sheltering me only modestly. My mother Merle expended many anecdotes and old wives' tales, trying to get me to come in out of the rain. I didn't care if I got wet as a child so why would it bother me at 56 years of age. I'm pretty sure I did get colds and other maladies from being out in adverse weather but what I learned out there vastly outweighed the consequences. Just as it is today, here in late September, 2011, standing on the jut of land overlooking The Bog here at Birch Hollow, our Gravenhurst homestead. It is a grand sight and a splendid sensation to stand here in the mist-veiled Bog, and watch the deer amble along the far ridge…..listen to the tiny cataracts of run-off water in concealed pockets of cattails and matted grasses.
Even though there are motor vehicles rumbling along the roadways, and a hammer resounding close by, it is easy to remove oneself to the tranquility of this wild acreage so close to urbanity. It is an ethereal experience, and it is quite possible to find yourself immersed in the whole history of this oasis of forest, rock and water……as if a thousand years of its history can be spanned by a simple daydream. It is an important place. A healing place. A sojourn so many of us neglect, and bypass daily as if it is nothing more than a backdrop for the place we live. Yet standing here, as I frequently attend, it is obvious that an ignorance to nature is a growing, dangerous failure of modern man. How many times has an ill-informed council thought it prudent to sell-off this bogland, to foster more house and condo building. Not giving much attention, to the fact, this little acreage of wetland, filters a high volume of run-off water from a huge area of our community, before it makes its way down into Muskoka Bay, of the broader Lake Muskoka. I'm reminded daily, of the fight we have had recently, to preserve it, and the clean-ups we must do regularly because of those residents and citizens from beyond the neighborhood, who continue to dump refuse into its precious nooks and crannies.
The meaning of life is here. It is the beating heart, the pulse, the nurturing ground from which we all benefit. When I find someone's cast-offs, dumped here, it is a clear demonstration of our failings in this life. As we put jobs and money above the well being of our environment, with plans for a huge pipeline from Canada to the United States, for example, well, it's what our world, and its excesses, has come to in this new century. We need more, want more, and more than even that! Yet when you pause thoughtfully, for a moment, and think about a place such as this, so beautiful to the eyes, so peaceful to the heart, so invigorating to the soul, how sad it is that we have misinterpreted its subtle, passive, wonderful message. That to maintain our place on this earth, and conserve what does in fact keep us alive, we need a co-operation of the citizens of the world, and restraint on the capitalist rage of fiscal alchemy, trying to turn every resource into a source of revenue. Some things on this earth are not for sale. You'd never know it, by how we live and work.
A little fellow here, and chums, have built a wee fort for themselves, from old wood gathered from some backyard woodpiles. They work away at it for hours on end, and they seem so invigorated, on a Saturday morning, to get over into the woods for another day of building and general adventure sport. It reminds this old-timer of my own series of forts and hideaways from the rest of the world. Although it is kind of misshapen, and covered in tarps to keep it dry inside, I welcome this intrusion on these beautiful woods, because it means our neighborhood youngsters are playing outdoors again. For years here, youngsters stayed on their own property, in their fenced backyards and in those too comfortable, computer equipped recreation rooms, playing video games. It's refreshing and important that they explore these woods, and appreciate the nature that surrounds them. Even in the hinterland of Ontario, it's possible to be disconnected from nature……as many of us live city-type lives, even when we can rightfully claim rural status. While it's true I have made regular trips over to the encampment to clean up the scattered boards with protruding nails, I do enjoy hearing the chatter of contentment, when they are fully engaged in their intricate adventure games.
I have never had any problem sharing these woods. And they have become popular amongst dog walkers, especially, although more and more parents are leading their children by the hand, to look over the wildflowers that grow in pockets along the ridge. It is even more exciting, to hear a parent explaining to their children, about the comings and goings of the resident squirrels, the birds flitting about in the overhead boughs, and about the bugs encountered from flower to flower, and beneath the old rotting logs. If there is a chance of saving this planet, it will be the passions of these children to carry-on.
I was at an outdoor camp with a group of local students, some years back, and watched a young lad, with an accompanying posse, relentlessly attacking a snake they'd found on the path. I was appalled. So was my son. Both of us intervened before it was too late for the snake, and it was the look of contempt on the boys' faces that was most disheartening. They didn't see anything wrong with beating this creature to death. I offered an explanation. They stared at me as if I was from another planet. Here they were, on an outdoor adventure, as part of their schooling, and the teacher hadn't prepared them for what they were about to encounter……and why we should refrain from destroying creatures and habitat because it happens to be in our way.
My sweater is soaked through now, and the rain has become quite heavy in the past few moments. It is so wonderfully refreshing none the less, but I can still hear the echo of my mother's voice, as she used to call me from our Burlington home, when her dream-obsessed child was mucking about the environs of Ramble Creek, on its tumble into the wide expanse of Lake Ontario. Some things never change. I'm glad of this fact, that over a life time I have never once abandoned either dreaming, or my respect for the environment, and its welfare.
My lads feel the same, and I think they'll be only too willing to pass it on to their children one day……who will also build forts, study bugs, listen to the birds and squirrels, and have so many exciting adventures, in wild places like this.
