TIME AND OCCASION FOR THE MIND TO WANDER
It is early November and all is well here at The Bog, my Muskoka "Walden Pond," where the voyeur is heartily entitled, ceaselessly encouraged, to watch the natural transition of the seasons…….and enjoy the peace of mind, abundantly nurtured and encouraged in such inspirational places as this. Gentle, soothing places, where country philosophers aren't scorned or judged, and the path from here to there isn't encumbered by precedent and pre-conceived anything. If I should walk down this short, winding trail, to The Bog this morning, there could be a length of tree, newly fallen, blocking my way. It would be my enterprise to work with the nature around me, and either move the obstacle or hop over it, and think more on the subject, of rolling it to the side. There are no bylaws that will stop this enterprise of nature evolving, or of us passersby, working in unison to free the path of blockages. I adore this pathway, and respectfully submit that nature is entitled to change what it pleases, and when in a mortal day, it decides change is imminent and necessary. We don't need consensus, just not a grand debate on how to regain order amidst chaos. This is one situation of chaos I am respectful of, and in fact, benefit from, as it is evolutionary and splendidly natural. I am always interested in nature's handiwork.
The bogland is heavy with white sparkling frost this morning, although it is going to be a bright and sunny hour to come, without even a whisp of cloud from one horizon to the other. It is late enough this morning that I can hear the pleasant sound of youngsters, running to catch their school bus, at the corner of our lane. It is a nostalgic mix, to hear their voices, and hardy laughter, as this place softens in the increasing light, and the lowland grasses spring back, upon the melting-away of frost from the ground up. The unison of squirrel chatter, the rustling of an old porcupine in the brush pile, and the chirping of birds in the overhead boughs, has a restorative affect on the watcher in the woods; and it is life truly, honestly, celebrated amidst pleasant encumbrance……this change of season…..this length of tree that forces me to adjust my footfall. A change of plan from the normal course. There is birth and then death and a strange dance of life and fate, from one transitory reality to another.
It has been a gentle transition, this fall season, into the more aggressive near-winter days, but after a bright and sunny Thanksgiving, where many people wandered through these same smoky woods, donned in summer attire, the continuing warmer climate, with so much full, invigorating sun, may well be a harbinger of a mild winter yet to come. Of course, the old-timers, judging the frantic collecting of the chipmunks and squirrels, believe this will be a difficult, bitterly cold winter; one for the record books they add!
It is easy to lull into complacency, standing here, overlooking the painted landscape in this bathing of strong morning sun. While I've watched this all before, the tranquil, warm solitude quickly overtaken by the mood swing of December, it is innocent folly, to believe the kind weather will persist; maybe even to Christmas, as it does once every twenty or so years. But I will be contented, regardless, by whatever prevailing climate exists, as it has proven a hundred times over, that inclement weather stirs the artist within. I have benefitted many times, sitting in my office, here at Birch Hollow, looking out on a typical winter-season stormscape, and writing with a boundless vigor; composing long, long into the night, being inspired by the howl of the wind, the rage of snow hitting against the pine forest, the leaning old birches, and this modest wreathed homestead above The Bog…..that has afforded, for all these years, sanctuary from the elements.
As I benefit from this life-full acreage, so close to the urban neighborhoods of our town, and celebrate the seasons of Muskoka, I will return to my abode, soon, and attempt, to the best of my capability, portray the experience of my contemplative sojourn, in the rejuvenating grasp of healing nature,….. and undoubtedly feel, in kindness, I owe this place my keenest attention. When, that is, I've found myself again, sitting at this keyboard, attempting the impossible. To express my most sincere gratitude, for the embrace of nature at Birch Hollow.
