ALONE, THOUGHTFUL, IN A SOLITUDE OF SO MUCH INSPIRATION

There is a warm, misty environs here at Birch Hollow this early afternoon. It will rain hard for several moments, and the wind will pull hard at the rest of the leaves, still hanging to the overhead boughs, and then, as quickly as it arrived, it will all calm and the rain turn to a wafting mist across the lowland of The Bog. I come here several times a day, for a wee respite, and to connect with the place that inspires me the most these days. I suppose places like this, have inspired me for most of my life.

Growing up, first in Burlington, Ontario, in the late 1950's, I had the full benefit of a modest little ravine property, where the shallow path of Ramble Creek wound around thickly wooded corners, obscured by vines and small shrubs, snaking down to the shore of Lake Ontario. We lived in a well populated older neighborhood, where there were four apartments, and two other smaller, multi-family townhouses, and numerous single family residences. But as a kid, loving nature, I had no interest playing in backyards, sideyards, in recreation rooms, on driveways or in the huge swath of land where the power line towers stood on rock foundations. I found all the opportunity I needed, squirreling down that embankment, off the beaten path, into the low-light basin of creek and brush, limestone bridges, huge suckers in the deep pools, and black and silver smelt by the bucket-loads in the early spring. It was a natural paradise. It wasn't a huge acreage but to a kid, it seemed massive and enormously protective of all its inhabitants, and I dare say, some other guests like the occasional passing hobo. Let's just say, when my mother let me go outside, she always knew where to find me. And when I came home for lunch or dinner, she could tell if I'd been close to the lake. The closer to Lake Ontario, at water level, the more I'd smell like fish. At that time, Lake Ontario pollution killed an alarming amount of fish, and I can remember waterfront parks smelling terrible, especially if you were having a picnic. I trust this has changed for the better.

When our family moved to Muskoka, in 1965, I couldn't believe my good fortune. What had been a several acre paradise, on the embankment of Ramble Creek, was now unbelievably huge for a city-raised kid, and I couldn't have been happier to call Bracebridge, Ontario, my new home. I had a number of favorite haunts, back then; The Grove, The Sandpit (behind our Alice Street apartment) and Bamford's Woods, directly across from 129 Alice, which was the backside of a small in-town cottage resort, complete with two mom and pop variety stores….one on each corner. The tiny woods, with a myriad of little paths, became the most important place in my childhood. Other than the roof over my head, of course. I've written about this many times but I always feel I haven't represented it as enthusiastically as I should. It comes down to the reality, I was a loner as a kid, as I am as a writer today. It doesn't mean I didn't have friends, because I had lots. I was involved in sports throughout the four seasons, and I found it comfortable to play almost anywhere throughout the 3,000 citizen strong Muskoka community. In the city, my mother Merle didn't allow me quite as much access to the wider neighborhoods, as she did in our new hometown. It was a safe and wonderful place to grow up. It convinced me to raise my own kids in this same bailiwick, split between family homes in Bracebridge and Gravenhurst, and I married a local girl, Suzanne, from Windermere…..an outdoor lover, as well, who as a child, admittedly, found entertainment in the abutting Lake Rosseau woodlands…..moreso than depending on mates to play with.

I have long been a woodland-wanderer, and whether I'm happy, discontent, impatient or angry, it will usually only take a few minutes of sojourn, in these wild, but familiar places, before I've settled down to enjoy……rather, celebrate, the inspirational vantage point….. of being a full-fledged "watcher-in-the-woods." When I found out, a few years ago now, about a bid to sell-off an historic park, in Bracebridge, known as "Jubilee," the hackles rose like spikes. Although this park wasn't a woodland, and didn't have a creek running through it, the reality the town politicians, and assorted movers and shakers, decided it was expendable open space, made me furious. As they had destroyed the tiny green belt, I knew as Bamford's Woods, and built upon the old sand-pit on Alice Street, plus gobbling up most of The Grove for urban residential, I couldn't understand why local councillors didn't appreciate the double jeopardy they were playing-at, knowing their future urban densities were going to increase in this urban transitional neighborhood. There were kids just like me, needing open space to unwind….to play, to explore, to have…..and to hold, to inspire, motivate, and enthrall. Here was this wonderful little town in the magnificent hinterland of Ontario, copying the same urban mistakes that had been well documented, and written about, experienced by thousands of urban jungles in North America;…..as unwise for healthy and safe future neighborhoods, now, in the heart of Muskoka, manifesting in the modern planning of the new era-town. They wanted the park, best known for its history with the Agricultural Society, and about a trillion games of baseball, over several centuries, to build a satellite university campus and a residence, which has just recently been opened. Despite having many other viable options, as far as properties were concerned, the town and the university pulled a lot of support their way, and despite heavy and well presented arguments, from park supporters, the wonderful old community open space was sacrificed and built-upon.

I remember thinking, while listening to the passionate speeches for the development, about the many times I'd used this park, and felt it was such an important place in the middle of a thriving little burg, in central Muskoka. I was proud to live in a town that would have open space like this set aside for posterity…..for all our mutual recreation, social and cultural thrown into the pleasant mix. There were many of us who felt the project was being situated in the wrong place. That as densities increase in the urban core, with multi-family buildings and apartments, open space was going to be ever-more important in the future. While the town had thrown out the plum, of establishing a new playing field, on the outskirts of town, it wasn't a fair trade except to baseballers, who had access to motor vehicles, or kids with bicycles and a willingness for a husky ride. I was living in Gravenhurst, at the time, so admittedly I felt out of place making a major presentation to the Ontario Municipal Board Hearing, which ruled in favor of the project……neighbors and park users be damned. It was the first time I'd ever seen a council unanimous on such a contentious issue, and that bothered me a great deal. Surely there was one of the individuals, who at some time, as a child, had played in this same wonderful park, and thought to themselves….."I love this town!" Instead of feeling hopeful about the development, the first earth-movers on site, brought a tear to my eye……that a town would ever sacrifice something so important as open urban space……a park…..a gift to town so many decades earlier, by someone who recognized the value of a recreational, cultural, social place to gather in celebration. Sorry, but not matter what they do on that site today, it will never replace the modest, subtle contribution that Jubillee Park represented for all those years, to a present population apparently unconcerned about urban densities, and adequate parkland for their sons and daughters to play. Not just on the outskirts that require transportation to get to, but just a short hop, skip, jump and amble from their respective homes.

I frequently warn my new hometown neighbors, especially councillors, about not following Bracebridge's lead in this manner. And to respect their urban open spaces for the future. To anticipate the problems of creating densely populated neighborhoods without adequate parkland. Once it's gone, and built upon…..well, what earthly value is regret. I don't know what I would do, if The Bog, this wondrous green belt in our present neighborhood, had been sacrificed several years ago, as the town fully intended, to bring in more residential housing by in-filling an important, water quality dependent "filtering" lowland. We came too close to disaster, to ignore the possibility, a future council might re-visit the issue to accommodate more residential development. If I'm not around, my boys are ready to take up the fight, to protect this important resource.

When I think about the problems of this old earth, and the abuses it has faced over the centuries, and the pollution that is threatening the future well-being of the citizenry, it would seem a most appropriate time to amalgamate and propel ourselves forcefully, at the precarious issue of trying to undo the damage that threatens to shorten or eliminate our lives. My impression is that education is still woefully lacking in outdoor studies, and in politics, well, we're not seeing the kind of wide-sweeping reforms needed, to make amends to a badly damaged eco-system. But when it comes to making headway, and assisting developers, it doesn't seem a shortfall at all to sacrifice farmland……what do we need it for anyway? It's hard to be optimistic about the well being of our open spaces today, with the knowledge of population increases, and resource shrinkage, and a free market that doesn't seem to operate with an abundance of conscience, in the pursuit of wealth.

No, little bits of urban parkland, green belts, lowlands, farmland……are just opportunities to exploit. Watch for the demise of one near you. But the folly, is that it will all end badly, and folks who are respectful of the environment, and the importance of green space and parkland, will be left to find something else to adore and celebrate. As I check-out the community press, anxious to see if any other initiative to fell these woods, is budding within the ranks of local government, or listening for the sound of a chainsaw getting a head start on the clearing, I still read, week after week, about so many other natural calamities in the making……and I'm left to worry, that greed will consume us all eventually, by the reactive tension of backswing, from the razor-sharp whip of the double-edged sword.

I don't know how many kids, up on Bracebridge's Alice Street, struggle with the shortage of open space, and parkland. I have know way of knowing how many youngsters pine for a refuge like the one I had, growing up, whether it was in the City of Burlington, or on Bracebridge's Hunts Hill, where there was no public park in the 1960's-70's; just a kind hearted gent named Fred Bamford, who allowed us kids to play in his woodlot. In 2011, there is no public park in this neighborhood, and nary a shred of open space. To get to a park, on that rise of urban landscape, it requires a hefty hike, across Highway 11, and nerves of steel to navigate the high-traffic business corridor. I'm told there will soon be a round-a-bout to help them. Right! As for Jubilee Park…..well, they can't build on our memories, of what it used to be.

As a parent, as a businessman, a writer, and a kid once, I benefitted more than I can ever describe, because of those centrally located open spaces, whether park or green space; just as my kids have benefitted so wonderfully, growing up in Gravenhurst……despite having to fight in order to save what we have today. The Bog. Pay attention to what green spaces, and sacrifice of farmland and woodland are being planned in the future, for more of what we don't need. Urban sprawl isn't in anyone's best interest……well, that's not quite true is it? The developer's profitability. In a nutshell. Development in the right place at the right time. Orderly growth with sensitivity to what the population needs. And they need parkland. We all need parkland. We all need to see greenspace, as it reminds us of the way it used to be……and could be again, if there was a will to conserve and protect.

MUSKOKA IN TRANSITION - A LOVER OF THE CHANGING SEASON, I SURRENDER

I have only just now arrived home, after a refreshing jaunt with pet in tow, over to the woodland across the lane…..the restorative wild place, with the well trodden path that winds with obscured corners, down into the frozen hollow of The Bog. I have sat here today, at this keyboard, looking longingly out my frosted office window pane, thinking it a sort of punishment, to be inside, and not ambling down the lane toward some type of profound, natural enlightenment. I have vowed every few moments of pause, to grasp up the dog leash, and take Bosko for a walk. As a writer, my greatest fear, other than getting too lazy to walk at all, is that I might interrupt an important story-line, or rich new vein of creative enterprise, by taking a break. It keeps me here confined far too long, but unfortunately it has been a life-time relationship with angst about failing, disappearing inspiration.

Each time I arrive at the pause I've been hoping for, the right punctuation to meet the perfect state of preparedness, I don my jacket, my most comfortable strolling shoes, and call my faithful partner to my side. Today provided a wonderful environs to wander through the smoky woodlands, and although the heavy fog of earlier has long since dissipated, there is still a hazy horizon, that makes this place so wonderfully haunted and alluring to the writer in its midst. For much of the day, I occupy that chair by the window, and tap on that contraption upon the desk that you can only barely make-out in silhouette. When the weather is vicious, and the rain and sleet smack at the window pane, as if to slap the voyeur to attention, I tremble a wee bit, at the thought of being in harm's way of raging autumn storm. Even the dog, curled on top of my feet, will, on these days, hearing the wind beating at the old house, politely but insistantly decline a walk until later……when wind and rain abate.

Yet there is only so much you can experience visually, and I feel absolutely compelled to immerse myself in the landscape environs about which I write so frequently, and am absorbed so deeply. My moods are very much tied to the prevailing conditions here, and when the winter turns on its charm, there is a definite bundling of observational affections, moreso than the typical wanderlust allure of those sun-bathed, early fall days, when standing on the brink of the hollow is warm and restorative. Today has been one of those days, and I regret not having ventured out more often, and sooner, as it is warned, that the end of the week will bring a new stormfront and possibly the first snow of the fledgling season.

I have written in alcoves on quiet beachfronts in Florida, on the fringe of Robin Hood's forest in Nottingham, England, from a nook in old Toronto, old London, and on the shores of the Muskoka lakes, where gentle lapping of the water, paced my copious notes, made about the truly great places on earth to wax poetic. But it is this place, above the Gravenhurst moor, that I have invested most of my time, watching over these enchanted woods and frost-silvered bullrushes, that waver, like willows in an English meadow, by the scented sweep of gentle air from horizon hill to sunlit pasture. I have found an inspirational place to work. I am home. I have a dog wrapped around my feet, and two cats now stretching on my lap…..the other is sitting up on the window sill, swatting at water droplets falling on the other side of the glass.

There is no danger, actual or perceived, of running out of things to write about, here at Birch Hollow, tucked so pleasantly into the ever-fascinating lakeland of South Muskoka.