Power Gifts

early morning rainbow

Power comes in all forms. In the air, through a cord or around the corner. Good thing too. During the holiday season one needs an extra fuse or two to help finish all that needs finishing.

From hanging outdoor lights to sharing soup and biscuits with a friend to chatting it up with strangers while waiting in line at the Post Office, one has to make sure that the batteries stay charged.

We know that a lack of electricity really impacts our lives. That was most obvious last week when we had two days of scheduled electrical outages. Since Algoma Power had to upgrade some of the lines leading from the hydro dams on the Montreal River, we were without the juice from 9am till 5pm. Prepared we were, but you know how early it gets dark. One late afternoon we ended up playing a game of crib by candle and kerosene light. (I almost got skunked).

I suppose that might be how some folks are feeling these days about their power bills. But what are the alternatives? Here’s an interesting phenomenon Google asked me to consider.

Agawa lagoon

We all have a built in energy source. Our own bodies generate electricity. It flows and moves through our bodies as potassium ions rush through cell walls to meet the sodium ions. Those two opposites attract and boy oh girl, when they meet is there ever a spark!  Such impulses domino and before you know it the charges are zapping our systems. Now science wants to upgrade the harvesting of all that energy.

We’ve gone beyond wrist watches that charge their batteries when you shake your arm. (ps – that is called piezoelectricity – electricity from movement). Today’s game is much more complex. We now are in the age of personal energy harvesting devices and the internet of things. Experimenters have strapped the devices to people’s knees, sent them on a walk and pow! The inventions captured enough energy to power five cell phones. Or, how about this? Put energy harvesting materials (usually crystals or ceramics) into the floor and voila! Just imagine what a crystallized dance floor, hockey rink, basketball court, football pitch or theatre stage could produce. 

This insight into harvesting energy has cleared up some of the mystery around the magic of walking. When we take a step, the rising and falling of our foot creates an electrical charge. At the same time we absorb some of the enormous electrical energy inherent in the Earth.  

fire tea

Last week, before the cold and snow of winter moved in, we walked with some friends to the mouth of the Agawa River. That day the sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds. The light would show itself enough to shed warmth and then go back into a cloud to create a Lauren Harris painting. We walked down the cobbled shore, came to a familiar spot by a driftwood log and made a small comfort fire. We needed it. The north wind was being a tease, threatening to force us off the shore at any minute. Lake Superior had chosen to be calm, sending soft rolling waves onto the shore. Blue grey snow clouds lined the horizon but the perfection of the moment remained intact. Sitting on the ground with a log for a back rest, sipping a cup of hot mint green tea, was so relaxing. The walk to the river mouth was more than an opportunity for fine vistas and fresh air. It refilled the gas tank. Or to be more in tune with the current economic and environmental times, the day supercharged our batteries.

watchful

This week is a different story. Our old friend Polar Vortex is threatening to plunk onto our doorstep and steal our energy. Not to be undone by such insistence, I am going to turn the table and grab some power from the cold. I’ll gather it on sunny snowshoe trails beside deep blue Superior, under the glow of a full moon on fresh snow or in the unexpected wonders - like that early dark morning when I saw two shooting stars chase each other down the handle of the Big Dipper.

The next time there is a power outage I doubt there will be an energy harvesting device at my fingertips or kneecaps. For now candles and kerosene are fine to lighten a darkened room. And until kitchen floors come equipped with piezoelectric charging materials I think I'll get my energy from tromping around on snow crystals. I know one can always depend on them to add brightness to the season.

that beautiful blue

Happy Holidays everyone and may your energies increase with each step into the New Year.

What's a Whiskey Jack!

November 14, 2016 :

Lake Superior waves at Montreal River  November 10, 2016

We’ve all got at least one friend. Be it your best, a book or even a bird, each one gladdens the heart. Good thing too. This has been a tricky week. But then November is the trickster’s month.

This November is a far goose cry from that of just two years ago. In November of that year, 2014, we already had LOTS of snow. And it didn’t leave till late May! But for me that was ok. I am a fan of the white stuff. Fresh soft snow, reflecting its shine back up to the stars, is a peaceful thing indeed.

The same can be said for the past few weeks of golden goodness. Hikes along soft needled forest trails have such special magic. Chickadees chirp and Canada Geese share their high lonesome calls. The last of the yellowed moose maple leaves dangle from thin black branches and seem to float in the clear light air. The smell of the damp earth, the aging leaves and orange tips of cedar energize each step. Wind plays through the trees, catching and tossing light into cracks that remain hidden other times of the year. All the while Lake Superior is rumbling and rolling along the shore. No doubt it still will be a while before or IF the lake assumes a winter coat.

Early morning November gold on Montreal Island

A change to a winter coat isn’t just the work of lakes and rabbits and weasels. Some birds adopt winter plumage too. The other day we spotted a distant line of white and grey heads bobbing in north blown waves. I wondered why seagulls would want to sit facing that cold blast of wind. But then I saw them all dive beneath the water. Ahha—not gulls! Winter plumage loons!

To honour our friendship with birds, the Royal Canadian Geographical Society has been asking Canadians for their choice of a national bird. After hundreds of submissions they are down to five candidates - Canada Goose, Snowy Owl (Quebec’s bird), Common Loon (Ontario’s bird), Chickadee (New Brunswick’s bird) and the Grey (the website, for some odd reason uses Gray, the American spelling) Jay. The result will be announced at a RCGS gala dinner in Ottawa on November 16.

You can just imagine the arguing, the to and froing , as to which bird shall be chosen as The One. The chatter has been incredible. David Bird (no kidding), Emeritus Professor of Wildlife Biology at McGill University, speaks for (one of my favs) the Grey Jay AKA the Whiskey Jack (from the Cree Wiskedjak).

A Whiskey Jack looking for a handout at Montreal River On, Nov 14, 2014.

On the website nationalbird.canadiangeographic.ca, Bird lists many reasons for choosing this 70g, 33cm long, feathered pal with a wingspan of up to 45 cm. Plus,  they stay in Canada all year-round, cannot be confused with any other species and are extremely smart and friendly. I’m with Bird. Who couldn’t like this cute, friendly bird that resembles an oversized, fluffy chickadee? Plus, they’re really intelligent and creative. They are the Roberta Bondars of the bird world.

Grey Jays are AKA as “camp robbers”, flying away with bits of your food if given the chance. But people don’t mind; they love this resilient, faithful survivor. 

Check out this story from Joel Coutu in Montreal Quebec.

During the 1930s Depression his grandfather used to spend nine months of the year away from family, working in the lumber camps in Northeastern Quebec, in the Lac Saint Jean area. One day his grandfather cut down a tree that had a Whiskey Jack nest. One of the young birds survived the fall and his grandfather brought it back to the camp, fed it, took care of it and the two became BFF.The bird followed the grandfather everywhere and even played fetch! For the next three years, every fall when the grandfather returned to the camp, the jay would be there and fly onto his shoulder. The jay wouldn’t do this for any other worker in the camp!

Other folks have experienced how Whiskey Jacks like to hang out at the same locale year after year. Former Montreal River resident George Bartley likes to tell the story of snowmobiling to an area about 8 km south of the former “village” at Mile 92 on the ACR to Pike Creek, which stays open all winter. Bartley explained that he always took along extra cheese sandwiches for the large group of Whiskey Jacks who reside there.

Raven cruising over Alpha Tor

Indeed we do have a kinship with birds. They were the first singers. They have given us dreams, wonder, imagination and hope. And yes we do have them as friends. But best of all, we get to reminisce about their benefits.

Update November 17, 2016

 Last night, November 16, 2016, the Canadian Geographic Society awarded the prize to the Whiskey Jack. It became Canada's National Bird. Congrats friend! Thanks for being there.

Now we are ready for winter.

Fall Dreams

What is it about the fall that makes us want to wonder and wander? Perhaps it is seeing our world change colour and dare to exist as another self ? The reasons are too few or too many. But-- no matter what  thoughts might or might not hold onto those walking moments,there is no doubt that we witness

                                              the essence and magic of a season on the turn.

Big moon rising

for September 2016

Harvest moon over L.A.(Los Angeles)

That big harvest moon is talking to us. The evenings are lengthening and the stars are taking more curtain calls. No, I don’t mean all the movie folks at the Toronto Film Festival. (Although it would have been fun to be interstellar in the Big Smoke for a few days.)

Being star struck is something all of us experience at one time or other. While some people seek the stage their whole life, others are just fine being the audience. Actors, hockey greats, Olympic athletes and rock stars are undeniable, magnetic aspects of our universe.

The other evening I had the opportunity to cheer on some night-time entertainment. The almost full harvest moon was a bright white disc in the east, sliding up the sky as day light waned in the west. Our brightest star had slipped away to the other side of the world so the moon was left to juggle reflected sunlight. Towering pine trees stood as sentinel silhouettes, white quartz pebbles became ground stars and Lake Superior hid under its mysterious shiny blue/black self.

Crescent moon over  L.S. (Lake Superior)

This night nature is a powerful force. From the ancient star gazing Phoenicians to modern telescope laden observatories, we always have wondered about and wandered with star directives. The desire to look up and beyond will never go away. The Algoma Astronomers know this and that’s why they highlight Lake Superior Park as a go-to destination. Jeff Deans, a very active organizer in the group, visited the park on Labour Day weekend and along with about 140 people saw the Saturn Ring Nebula as well as the Globular Star Cluster in Hercules. Whew! Just those adventurous names alone make one want to peer through the lens.

Deans is working on making that a possibility. He is hoping that by next year Ontario Parks will designate Lake Superior Park as a dark sky preserve. Deans is very passionate about astronomy; a passion he learned from his father, who also loved sky watching. Dean’s father was considering making a telescope purchase, but he died from a brain tumour before he got the chance. So, about nine years ago, Deans invested a substantial sum- $4000- on a telescope. In an email he said that it was kind of a whim, but then added, “My thought was I don't know how much time I have, so it’s now or never”.

Terrence Dickenson knows that too. His column in this month’s Sky News magazine sure convinced me of the importance of preserving dark skies. Dickenson posted a Google Earth/Fabio Falchi et al map of North America Light Pollution. Wholly Lights Batman! You better stick to your cave. Flood lights fill at least half the continent. The Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and both U. S. coastlines are under the glow.

Dickenson also mentions Helen Sawyer Hogg (1905-1993). I Googled her name and discovered that she was an astronomer who pioneered research into globular clusters and variable stars. Hogg embraced the stars so much that she became one herself. A leading authority in astronomy, she published over 200 papers and wrote a weekly column in the Toronto Star for 30 years. She supported women to pursue science and helped make astronomy popular. Her book “The Stars Belong to Everyone” was a hit.

As I continued on this investigative trek, another chance encounter offered insight. Sasha, a young high school student came with his dad for a visit. Sasha, who has spent considerable time hiking and camping, was wearing a blue T-shirt with a logo from the Wolf Ridge Environmental Centre in Finland, Minnesota. On the back of the shirt was a starry scene along with a quote from Francis Clark, a famous innovative music teacher. She said,

“There wouldn’t be a sky full of stars if we were all meant to wish on the same one.”

No wonder Wolf Ridge chose her words. The Centre follows the philosophy of Richard Louv, the author who, in 2005, wrote “Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature - Deficit Disorder. Louv believes that passion is what ultimately motivates change. He says that passion is lifted from the earth itself by “the muddy hands of the young; it travels along grass – stained sleeves to the heart.” But, as Deans has learned, passion doesn’t stop there. It moves from the heart to the stars. 

The Canadian Oxford Dictionary defines a star as “a body so far removed from the earth it appears motionless.” But, we know about those deceptive appearances. We’ve always known that the stars move. As ancients, we sat up all night and watched them slide across the sky as the cosmos led us to exotic and familiar places. Today’s observers have a much easier way to check out the movement of the solar system. Folks can put their cell phones on time lapse and catch star spin.

No matter how or where we do it, seeing the night skies will always be vital to our well being. Star worlds are the delicate threads that bind us together. We might try and exist as a “Globular Star Cluster in Hercules” but one thoughtful stare into space lets you know that those billions of lights are all equal, all waiting for a wish. So let’s hope for some clear, star-filled fall nights. Then we’ll have a better chance to hear what the universe has to say.

Ethel 

Gather up

for August 2016

Maybe the birds know best after all. And I don’t mean their twitter. I refer to their marvellous ability to gather.And they share that need; for there is something about August that makes us want to gather too. 

Maybe the need to connect is glued to our psyche. There are the obvious places to come together, like fields and folk festivals. And this year we’re extra lucky as we can share Olympic celebrations. You go Penny Oleksiak! Congrats. Four Olympic medals and she is just entering grade 11! Aside from medal counts we have many other ways of collecting things. True we can gather dust or gather thoughts but nature often calls us to step outside and gather up something more tangible. Like berries.

Picking can be a delight if you are so inclined. Stand up raspberry picking is easiest. The red clumps of flavour roll off the branch into your palm and promise not to juice up - as long as you don’t force too many into the container. Blueberry bushes are more of a challenge on the back and knees, but the berries do stay firm .And if you find a patch that has turned the ground blue, that hour or so of rotating from sit (watch out for the ants) to crouch ( it’s ok knees) to bending over (soo..how far can I reach) is worth it. At first the task of filling the container might seem formidable. The berries thump into the bottom and it seems like it will take forever before the cup filleth over. However, before long you’re looking at the ingredients for a pie or muffins or jam. Yumm! And let’s not forget the bruins that like to pick-er-lick the berries too. There are berry filled clumps of bear poop to step across from time to time. You just have to watch where you’re headed.

Lake Superior offers up a different kind of fruit. When moisture ripens, it rises up and gathers into grand clouds. That’s when the party starts. They must invite some pretty fancy guests because the gnarly faces and wispy forms against those mountainous backdrops are as varied as the world itself.

One of my favourite gatherings in August is the coming together of the loon families. On the still evenings you can hear their encouragements as they begin to congregate. Soon the whole group is swimming as one, then fanning out to dive in all directions as they spot a school of minnows. They are fun to watch .The other very warm evening, as the loons wailed far off in the distance, I heard Lake Superior’s promise of coolness and slid into the smooth calm water. The sun was sinking into the horizon, shining pink and gold reflections onto the silky surface. For a few moments I floated there, just listening to the music in their plaintive voices as I stared up into the darkening sky.

As I think about gatherings I have to include Gord Downie and his Tragically Hip Man Machine Poem concert. The last night of their tour will be at Kingston’s 5,600 seat Rogers K-Rock Centre, on the evening of Saturday, August 20. And while Downie, Paul Langlois and Rob Baker are stirring up all the arena fans, the rest of Canada will be sharing the party on little and big screens across the country. Downie is well known for his cryptic lyrics. About this latest offering to the music world, Downie has said that his wife is the poem and he is the machine! Even if you’re not a “Hip” fan, there is something special about this last hurrah for 52-year-old Downie. He has glioblastoma, an invasive brain cancer. Downie’s physician says that the level of strength and courage, the energy that he needs to do the tour is well beyond what most people can do.Maybe Downie’s energy can help us keep going as we prepare to move into the next season, the glorious fall. Why might we need it?

Well, there’s another meaning for gather. “Gather Way” is a nautical term that describes when a ship is beginning to move. As soon as we gather our strength and thought, as soon as our basket is full, momentum compels us to move on. No sitting around with the goods.  Another pool awaits. The medals need a shelf. That pie has to be baked. Those birds have to leave for the south. And soaked clouds have to let go.

So let’s gather gladly and take it all up very lightly. For no one flies very far with heavy wings.

What's that you say?

What’s that you say? Ketchup, mustard and relish? Ooh! That smoke keeps following me around. Anyone have an extra hot dog stick?

Ahhh, summer chatter. The words resonate with long days spent outdoors and sweet evenings by a campfire.

 When I was a young girl, summer started as soon as I stood on the train platform at the ACR station on Bay Street in Sault Ste Marie. When I heard that red and black engine come chugging down the track I knew I soon would be on my way to Michipicoten Harbour where we had a “camp”. That meant icy swims, all day fog horn blasts, reading comics by kerosene, playing cards on a cleared off kitchen table and waking up to the sound of my mom making cinnamon toast on the woodstove.

Folks today have similar dear memories. Some cherish their beloved tent or cabin in the woods. Others seek their “cottage”, where life slows down enough to enjoy a cocktail on the dock or maybe even have a moonlight swim.

I imagine if you put all the memories of summer activities into one spot (and maybe today that’s Facebook or YouTube) you’d probably need several lifetimes to appreciate them. For finding ways to communicate our thoughts and experiences is what we humans must do.

Someone who has examined our efforts to “get the point across” is Dr Tim Lomas, from the Department of Psychology at the University of East London, England.  He has been collecting words for a Positive Lexology Project, words to explain “unexplainable” feelings. Some of the words are new but most are from other languages. His list is an international theme of consciousness.

So far he has listed 216 words. I took a look at his website and gleaned a few that I think pertain to some of the feelings we get this time of year.

By coincidence, a thunderstorm in full gear helped me out. I’ll explain. The day before I had observed how extreme heat was cooking up giant white cauliflower clouds. The next day skies showed off 100 shades of grey; fog was obscuring any sign of islands or bays; rain was pelting the rocks and the deck; flashes of lightning white were blinding out the horizon. Then a gigantic south wind blew over the lake wrinkling the water into long curving lines. All the while thunder growled, chomped and snapped at the air. Lake Superior was at the storm’s mercy.

I thought of the folks in their tents up at the Agawa campground, remembering my own rainy tent days myself. I was so grateful to be in a dry cabin watching the storm roil around us. Such is Chrysalism (new English): the amniotic tranquility of being inside during a thunderstorm.

I was hooked and ready to bite at more words.  How about those times when we sit around a campfire telling stories and philosophizing? Sooner or later you will discover Sonder (also new English): the realization that everyone has an existence as vivid and complex as your own.

Sitting around campfires also might give you a chance to experience Mangata, (Swedish): the glimmering that moonlight makes on water. But hopefully by the end of the evening you won’t be battling the burden of Morkkis (Finnish): a moral/psychological hangover from one’s drunken antics the night before.

Since summer often means travel, these words popped out. If you like to pick a spot on the map, then you know Fernweh (German): the call of faraway places and homesickness for the unknown. Or Xenia (Greek): guest friendship and the importance of offering hospitality and respect to strangers. So after you finish making those 32 cheese and bologna sandwiches for all the company, feel free to visit someone else’s place and get treated yourself.

Or maybe you desire a solitary barefoot stroll on a long sandy beach. That’s Uitwaaien (Dutch): to walk in the wind, to go out in the countryside to clear one’s head. Which is wonderful as long as you can return to Cynefin (Welsh): a place where one feels one ought to live; the relationship one has to the place one was born and/or feels at home. For many that place is Lake Superior, one where it might be possible to find Ondinnok (Iroquois): the soul’s angelic nature and innermost desires.

And since today is a fine day by the lake off I must go to enjoy some outside time. But before I get playing I’m going to make some potato salad. And maybe, at the same time, indulge in some Tjuvsmaka (Swedish): to taste or eat small pieces of the food when you think no one is watching, especially when cooking.

Cabin Castle and the Fog

Moving In

Foggy days make for great retreats. Mists crawl over the water and shift the brain into other modes.

This past wet foggy week KO’d my garden plans; so I dug deep into some books instead. Good thing, ‘cause one of them, Superior Heartland by C.Fred Rydholm, a loan from seasonal Batchawana resident, John Walkley, offered up a fortuitous timely tale.

Here’s a rather long story, so curl up with your cuppa joe. Louis Graveraet Kaufman was born in 1870 in Marquette Michigan. (And FYI, his grandpa, born and raised on Mackinac Island, was an interpreter for Henry Schoolcraft.) 

 Kaufman’s family were into banking and it wasn’t long before Louis also became a heavy weight in the business world. Example? He gave financial prestige and know-how into the construction of the Empire State Building!

But Kaufman also liked to get his feet wet following fish up Lake Superior streams.  In an attempt to marry his love of the bush with his desire for big business, he and his wife Marie decided to build a “camp”. Between 1919 and 1923, they hired 400 Scandinavian craftsmen who used their skills to  erect a luxurious and rustic L-shaped Lake Superior get-away that would over shadow anything that the uber rich, i.e. the Vanderbilts, Astors, Guggenheims and Rockefellers, were building in the Adirondack Mountains. Being no strangers to extravagance, Kaufman and his wife spent five million dollars on their retreat they called Granot Loma. Today this slate roofed creation is the biggest log cabin in the world.

The Kaufmans chose a gem of a site, 5,180 acres of Lake Superior shore and woodland, close to Marquette. A small point faces a shallow, red sandstone shelf and beckons to a nearshore, small rocky outcrop that the Kaufmans call Daisy Island. Construction of the lodge included a foundation that withstands the force of November storms and the crush of winter ice jams. Labourers dug four feet into the sandstone and laid down reinforced cement to a width of seven feet. Then two storage vaults with steel doors were built into the concrete. Later, as Prohibition loomed, the entire contents of a New York liquor store were shipped and stored into these “wine cellars.” Logs came from Oregon - cut, wrapped in burlap and sent by train to Michigan.

Then, in 1927, once the 22 architects and the Kaufmans were satisfied with the completions, there was a grand opening party. Among the celebrants were George Gershwin, Mary Pickford, Fred Astaire and Cole Porter. It was a Gatsby-esque bush bash in a Lake Superior castle.

Imagine Downton Abby in log, or Titanic grandeur sitting safely on shore. Rich carpets, grand pianos and hand carved furniture. 20 bedrooms, 13 baths and 26 stone fireplaces. The massive kitchen is big enough for a staff of 25 and an eight car garage can house Rolls Royce limousines. The main sitting room is 80 feet long, 40 feet wide and 36 feet high. In the center of the ceiling, 50 animal carvings decorate a huge white pine root chandelier. A 24 foot wide fireplace mantle was once the keel of the steamship Independence which went down in the explosion at Sault Michigan in 1853.

However, no amount of money buys immortality.  Louis died in 1942, Marie in 1956. Their daughter Joan took over Granot Loma. Joan’s sixth marriage was to Jack Martin, caretaker of Granot Loma since 1938. By the time Joan died in 1973, Jack was ill and needed help with the upkeep. So he hired George Johnston, who was also the police chief for Marquette.

Hold on reader, I’m getting to the punch line of this opulent story. A couple more rounds to go.

In 1977 an enthusiastic young boxer went to Marquette’s Northern Michigan University to put on a demonstration bout. You’re right - it was Mohammed Ali, heavyweight champion of the world.

Now Ali needed a bodyguard on this trip, so who volunteered? Police Chief George Johnston. Over coffee at the Holiday Inn Johnson and Ali got to talking about log cabins. Ali was bragging about his in Berrien Springs, a small town in Lower Michigan. But Johnston upper cut him when he told Ali about Granot Loma. The champ was knocked out by the place. He had to have it.

Ali had found inspiration by the shore of Lake Superior. Create a training camp at Granot Loma. Sportswriters would come and stay. Convert maid’s quarters into rooms for aspiring boxers. Use the private roads for jogging trails. Float over to Daisy Island and build a boxing ring for TV commercials.

Ali offered Martin 5, ten, then 20 million. No, no and no was Martin’s reply. He really didn’t want to sell the place. Two weeks later Ali made Martin another offer. Ten million plus 60 acres and Jack could take the rest. Or if he couldn’t buy the place, Ali was willing to rent it for $5,000 a week.

Martin was tempted but after talking with others, who were less colour forgiving than Martin, the offer was nixed. Thus fog shrouded Ali’s Daisy Island dream.

Today Granot Loma is a 575 acre National Historic Site, with a price tag of 14 million. Take time to Google the site. You can bet on it being entertainment for a rainy day.

Fog Waves

Sun Fog

Towab Treasures

People have to live Somewhere. Home varies from a parent’s basement, a castle in Ireland or a tent outside of town, each with some kind of visible and non visible support network. But networks do much more than hold up walls.

Canada is experiencing a strong network right now. Recent wildfires in Fort Mac and beyond have turned our country into one gigantic village, bound together by a universal desire to care for each other. This need to connect goes much deeper than doubling up for the Red Cross. Signs of a collective soul have always been everywhere. Check out the 2013 lyrics in Eddie Vedder’s compelling raspy baritone in Future Days by Pearl Jam. “You came deep as any ocean, did something out there, here. And I believe ‘cause I can see our future days, days of you and me”.

The intrinsic threads that weave connections wound around the life of American born writer and activist Jane Jacobs. She spread her belief in community via her now famous 1961 book, Death and Life of Great American Cities. In it she challenged the urban planners who wanted to remove people from the heart of the city. Then in 1968, frustrated with what was happening in the United States, she moved New York to Toronto. Jacobs made the Annex, a downtown area of the Big Smoke, her lifetime home and continued her work for positive community development. By the time she passed away in 2006 at the age of 90, she had become a celebrated Canadian - so much so that each year thousands of folks hold an annual “Jane’s Walk”. And this year in the Sault, on May 4, on what would have been her 100^th birthday, people took to the sidewalks and explored local downtown neighbourhoods.

I take to the hiking trails for similar reasons. The paths and shoreline of Lake Superior are part of my community. And one of my very favourite spring neighbourhoods is the Towab Trail. This primo Lake Superior Park hike leads from Frater Road five km to Burnt Rock Pool on the Agawa River and another seven km further to the mighty Agawa Falls.

To access the trail you have to drive 3.5 km up the Frater Road, which begins at Highway 17 North at Agawa Bay. (BTW the Frater Road is in pretty good shape this spring. Thanks to whomever has been taking care of it.)

There is a map beside the parking area. It describes the route but the experience is almost indescribable. The trail begins with tree art. Twisting roots of a yellow birch wrap themselves down the sides of a head high boulder, an erratic, a leftover from glacial days. If you get to the trail before leaves and bugs make their mutual entrance, you’ll see a land where time takes a nap. Little wonder! Those mysterious flowers, the spring ephemerals - the trout lilies, spring beauties, blood root, yellow violets, Dutchman’s breeches and trilliums that fill the wide bright green spaces between the leafless hardwood trees - have fluffed up the forest floor. Songs in the clear, clean, shining creek soon become a soothing lullaby. And the precious warmth of a May afternoon is your soft blanket. This is a safe place. Delicate yet enduring connections emerge. The forest canopy protects the flowers from too much undergrowth. The stream provides water, light and sound to birds, moose and people. And ancient trees lie down to make a home for mosses and young trees. This forest village holds all the elements of a thriving community – protection, sustenance, knowledge. By the time you get close to the rushing sound of the Agawa River you are deep in a peaceful green valley of hope.

Other beautiful spring hikes have called me from the park, have made me explore community. We took the trail north of the Agawa River mouth  to discover what once was a small village of people from the 1930’s to the 1960’s. We bushwhacked along the shore to follow the outline of old foundations and crunched over leaf strewn decaying can dumps. We marvelled at the fine shape of a huge rounded tire fender. But nothing speaks of interdependence, of the need for each other as the play of flower and fern by rock and water. They are powerful teachers and holders of truths.

Their gift is community and we have taken it to heart. Be it a quiet stroll through downtown Queen Street, a loud cheer for the Raptors at a sports bar or hot handed applause for an encore at Toronto’s Pearl Jam concert, the joy of sharing is fundamental.

So, thanks Nature for helping us realize that we need each other - and for showing us the way home.

TAWAUB’S TRAIL

A frothing river bed

Became a lush forest floor.

Maple towers

Gazed upon glacier’s boulders.

And then he made a path, a trail, to lead to the beckoning

Burned Rock Pool of the Agawa River.

This valley home for

Moose, bear, bird,

Violet, lily, bloodroot,

Was his domain.

This Hercules of the Northwoods,

This myth of the forest,

This Tawaub

He with the infectious grin and reverent smile,

He who poles a canoe upstream,

He who carries a 50 lb pack on his back and a canoe on his shoulders,

For 4 hours, nonstop, up the hills!

Is our wonder.

Tawaub embraced Batchawana to Agawa

But his name goes around the world.

To walk his trail leads you to the river.

To learn Tawaub’s path

Never look back to see who is following.

Never pause until Rest Time.

Never offer to do any part of another’s work

But always, always help those you can like.

Oh Tawaub,

He-who-walks-by-moonlight

He-who-comes-tomorrow

Do you rest now?

Or do your moccasins still trod the endless trail?

Tawaub was an Ojibway guide who excelled in the ways of the woods. His name graces the 5 km hike from the Frater road to the Agawa River.