A Wee Bit of Sanctuary

There is a small parcel of open space across from our home here in Gravenhurst, Ontario, that is supposed to remain untouched, as laid out in the terms of the original subdivision agreement. I don’t know whether this is true or not, as we haven’t read the original agreement but any attempt to hack this wee parcel of sanctuary into a condominium project, will certainly necessitate a chain, lock and a sturdy tree to hug. If it goes, we go! And possibly it won’t be a pretty picture, seeing as we won’t give our forest up without a fight.
Since we arrived at the Gravenhurst residence in the late 1980’s, this nicely treed acreage, with a flourishing marshy bowl in the middle, has been our constant reminder that we live in the so called hinterland of Ontario. Muskoka! What our visitors refer to as “cottage country.” We look out over what we call “The Bog,” each morning, and cherish the vision of enchanted woodland. It is a habitat to a wide variety of creatures, from moose, deer, bear and the occasional lone wolf, to neighborly raccoons, skunks, fishers, squirrels, chipmunks and most recently wild turkeys. The Bog (lowland) is fully occupied by its plethora of regional critters, and the tree tops are thoroughly utilized by our feathered friends. Owls, hawks, crows and blue jays. Although it is only a tiny parcel allotment in municipal terms, it is none the less a wildlife sanctuary. It is enjoyed by subdivision residents who cherish it as a buffer to the rest of the urban way of life. There is a wonderful spray of ferns in the late spring, and a silver mist over the matted lowland grasses in early November. It might be seem in the spring moonlight to be an English moor. It could have been a place that inspired poet Robert Frost, who just might have stopped for a moment’s contemplation, on a snowy winter’s eve.
As a writer-historian in residence here, I’ve written about The Bog in hundreds of published feature articles over the years. It has been an ongoing source of calm and gentle inspiration for all of us inmates at the abode we call Birch Hollow. Its good nature has been weaving its influence into most of the pieces I’ve composed, since setting up my office to overlook this full-of-life woodland. When I write about the nature of Muskoka and those who want to strip it away in the name of “economic development,” I can’t help but think about The Bog, and how much our lives would be diminished if it was cut down and the lowland infilled; all the life forms that depend on it destroyed for the cause of building more of what we don’t need.
In this supposedly enlightened period of history, with most mortals knowing at least something about the limitations of the potentially “late, great planet earth,” you would think there would be a dramatic rise of survival instinct, sensibility and environmental activism about cutting away and bulldozing down the nature that gives us life. Global warming? Greenhouse gases? Diminishing polar ice? Oceans running out of fish? It would seem that these “quality of all life” issues would stir the blood of at least several municipal councils, out of six making up the District of Muskoka, to place environmental well being ahead of economic development. A few of us ponder the value of ever-expanding shopping venues when we might soon be gasping for a lung-full of clean air. Call it fear mongering if you wish but you most definitely will be faced with many new barbs of “fear,” if we maintain our ongoing greed-driven destruction of “home.” And I’ve been a hopeless romantic thinking that one day, a council, maybe just one councilor representing this beautiful hinterland, will stand up to the developer’s almighty buck and say…..as if Shane to a gunslinger, “We don’t want your box store here! Get out of town!”
What irks me most these days is the rabid, frothing, ugly overflow of propaganda about all those development-generating jobs. As a reporter I’ve heard these claims and arguments a thousand times, the lubricant to ease along a project and to soft sell the fact we must lose something to make gains. Claims of jobs, and the numbers of openings soon to be available, are most often fudged in the name of good theatre and compelling argument. Who follows the claims up after the project is on track? There have been numerous development interests in the past year that have made unsubstantiated claims about the impact they would have on a particular community, if only we’d loosen up restrictions and willingly sacrifice more of our (in their opinion) under-utilized open space. If you add up all the other promises that have been broken, well, if each one was a tree, we’d have a thriving forest.
When a developer tells me that my life will be improved when the box store is operational, I’m convinced this is the number one reason to challenge the project, because frankly my life’s pretty good already. I couldn’t stand all that betterment in one lifetime. I’ve been promised this many times before by a plethora of golf course developers, strip mall proponents, box store zealots and a host of other urban sprawlers, who actually believe in their own mistruths about quality of life issues. I can’t imagine the rhetoric needed to have retarded my logic to the degree necessary, to make me believe that our lives would have been so much better if our family had spent our years, staring out over a strip mall parking lot, instead of this pleasantly appointed open space, The Bog.
A few of my critics have called me “tree hugger,” “pain in the arse” (which is deserved), “activist,” and “loose cannon.” Maybe I deserve all of them. The fact they, including many local politicians, consider it necessary to discredit the environmental columnist, is undeniable proof they’re nervous of reality stopping up fantasy. The “greed-inspired-amongst-us,” will never cease trying to claim the last bit of open space for economic development. I’m sure the shills for a better economy would still be trying to convince citizens to embrace another box store, for the betterment of community life and times, if members of the audience were all wearing oxygen masks, and being forced now and then to gouge chunks of soot from their respective filters.
I’m not an opponent of all development as my adversaries would have you believe. I’m a progressive thinker and a wee bit of a self proclaimed visionary. We need employment opportunities and yes, as the need has existed from the first stroke of time, there is the necessity to sacrifice something for the gain of something else. I dwell a lot on the suggestion of “sensible proportion,” like knowing when to kick back from the dinner table before eating oneself to death. But I have never been so daft as to believe that progress has to spell “imbalance,” “urban sprawl” or “destruction of wetlands,” just to put the municipal books in the black.
My greatest aspiration with this blog, this humble, personal editorial message, is to convince you to take a closer look at Muskoka’s urban sprawl, compared to parallel initiatives of environmental protection. And if you feel we’re taking on the appearance of “city-not-wanted,” please feel free to take issue with those who wish to impose their values on our hinterland.
Muskoka has been my unfaltering source of inspiration. As a writer, I have benefited constantly from this close relationship with our natural resources. As it has nurtured and rewarded me for all of these years, I will never drop my loyalty or mission to create an enlightened awareness about the conservation-perils facing the home region.
Thank you for reading part two of this new online blog, from the home office on “The Bog!” Stay tuned for more Nature of Muskoka in the coming weeks.
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Winter of Reflection

It only takes me several minutes to pass back into the soothing, life restorative embrace of The Bog. The portal onto the untouched Muskoka I passionately adore, and use as a source of inspiration for a wide variety of present and future writing projects. Whether it’s at first light on a winter morning, mid-afternoon, or at the midnight hour, this tiny pinnacle of land I visit, affords me an unobstructed view of the frozen marsh, and the snow-clad woodlands on the far side of this evergreen rimmed bowl of lowland. I have huddled against a particular tree here, offering modest protection from a howling wind coming off Lake Muskoka, and watched with profound curiosity as the landscape was sculpted with half ice, half snow, the dance of half light, half darkness. On particular vigils watching this aggressive winter transformation, I can attest to a stark sensation of both fear and trembling, as if the watcher in the woods had seen malevolent spirits at work. I may have witnessed the handiwork of legend and lore manifesting with wind, snow and moonlight breaking through the storm clouds. In the unclenching palm of winter season, this Bog will change appearances from hour to hour, like a shaker left still on a mantle, to then be violently shaken into the fury of storm. The tree boughs will be thrust free of the most recent fall of snow, and be exploded into the whirlwinds of west wind carving and gouging down deep into this now barren sanctuary. It is the stinging, spiritual stir upon mortality that pulls imagination free of its bounds. The voyeur stands in awe of the scene unfolding, as if it is the very center of the universe, in a passionate uncoiling, rising to reclaim the earth.
Whenever I find myself weary of the progressives, the earth pounders and sundry other capitalists who see money where I celebrate sanctuary,…..those who wish to replace the woodlands, the lowlands, the pastures and lakeshores with structures and profitable land-uses,…… these quiet, regular and uplifting sojourns to The Bog, enjoying the sanctuary of nature at its centre, is enough of a respite to, as they say, live to fight yet another day!
I would like to have a politician, a developer, any urbanite at all, with me at these poignant moments, when nature is the study. The only study. I would love them to witness, from this same modest portal, a winter storm sweeping powerfully down upon the forest acreage; the cyclonic manifestations, carving and sculpting drifts where moments earlier none were visible. How subtly and softly the witness can be covered over, entombed, frozen into winter’s sparkling, beautiful domain. What a profound event it would be, in the company of the uninspired, to watch the dynamic reckoning of winter’s howling rage, transform heaven into hell-frozen-over. Consumed by all the enchantments unexplained, the ecstasy of sensation, feeling the helplessness in the palm of nature’s fury, when soon again, as saving grace, the December moonlight revel on the snow conjures up images of the fantastic, universal yet undetermined;…. and daybreak again displays the wee footprints and trails of existence beyond expectation. Might the unfettered witness to these natural forces and enchantments, thusly feel compelled then to return with keen anticipation, hopeful nature will afford yet another glimpse of the “remarkable,” without even a faint silhouette of urban skyline to corrupt the magic.
I dedicate this portion of Currie’s blog to the memory of well known and revered Outdoor Education teacher, Miles David Brown, of Hamilton, who taught me how to immerse in the natural world, to celebrate all the life thriving within. As he did with thousands of students over the decades, he showed me the path into the woodlands, and I’ve been immersed in exploration and discover ever since.

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