WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD UNFOLDS
It’s admittedly hard for a newshound like me, to go from my media obsession, to this forest path that winds in light and shadow out onto The Bog. You step outside this door, at Birch Hollow, and you are immediately consumed by azure sky and painted hardwoods to the horizon. It is still so pleasantly warm and refreshing, cleansing away the memories of so many humid days of the past summer. Once I get out here for a few minutes, I must admit feeling better about the world and its resilience. Even though I’ve just finished watching news flashes about sludge spills, bombs exploding, outbreaks of fierce fighting, incidents of random shooting, and oh so much more. I’m so happy that my old dog Bosko likes to go on frequent walks, along this forest path. He gives me a little nudge, at knee level, when she senses I’m tensing up with all this breaking, unfortunate and frequently horrible news. It’s true that I don’t know when to pull myself away from news transmissions, because I’ve been a reporter in fact and spirit most of my life. It is an old habit. I insist on being informed, and when I don’t know the answer to something that has been perplexing me, well, I have to dig for myself. Whether the dog knows when I’m tense or not, is more likely faulty logic on my part, although arguably, her nudges more often than not, occur when I’m sitting on the edge of my chair, watching some unfolding news item. It’s then that I arrive at a decision to vacate the armchair and take to the woodlands, and I’m never disappointed whether it is raining out or snowing. I’m poet Robert Frost, for those moments, stopping by a woods on a snowy evening. There’s no shortage of inspiration walking this short but interesting path to nowhere in particular.
Out here nature is supreme. I am just a sightseer. My dog, a sniffer. It’s her turn to sleuth out the truth about whether a deer has recently passed our path, or if a squirrel has scurried along here this morning. I don’t make mental notes because one impression covers the whole scene unfolding. Awe. I am always in awe of this Muskoka hinterland. It doesn’t matter how bedraggled I get in a work week, retreating here several times each day, is a respite I can’t do without.
I feel abundantly sorry for those folks, who have no use for places like this.....who would see new houses and condominium possibilities if they walked this same path. There are those who would rather sacrifice nature for profit, than to take profit as I have these many years, in a trade of goodwill between myself and nature. I think of myself rich with inspiration, and calmed by immersion in these enchanted woods. I believe it is from a portal like this that so many human problems could be resolved......sitting out here on the edge of this basin, and watching out as autumn paints her landscape, and later the northern lights will dazzle through the October sky. There are spirits here.....good spirits. They are the spirits of land and air, water and trees, rock and muck, life and death.....of which the voyeur is as much the patina as the needles of the evergreen, the declining brown canopy of ferns, the sound of a tiny cataract off in the distance, and the moan of autumn wind in the barren branches of leaning birches. The poet disappears into the poem willingly, just as the approaching nightfall will haunt this place with pale moonlight, but we shall not be fearful of what lurks within. We are led by the hand toward insight and illumination, even at the darkest peak of night. We can see clearly where we have come from, and where we must yet travel on our journey.
When I arrive back at my Birch Hollow, Bosko takes a few moments to gnaw at a flea, or snap at an annoying fly buzzing about its nose. I pause to look out over this paradise on earth, and thank God we were able to save it, when the developers and our town council, thought recently, it would put so much more profit on the books, as a subdivision, than sitting idle as a wetland. Most had never heard of Robert Frost, and the only reason they’d ever stop by a woods on a snowy evening, was when their SUV’s got stuck in a drift.
What a tragedy it would have been if a developer’s idea of progress and brimming-over coffers, had continued to allure the weak-willed into selling-off this green space. I guess in fact, our early challenge to this project, was the result of my newshound habits, that gave us here a quick start on an uphill battle. For once being tense was quite justified. I’m waiting for round two because as history has prevailed upon us before, even crappy ideas survive the rigors of time.
