It seems I discovered the healing power of nature (or maybe nature found me) at a very young age. Growing up in a small town in northern Canada, close to Muskeg country, the wilds were out my front door, and whenever the chaos of my home life got too chaotic, I always found refuge walking the small trail down to the lake. There, I’d find a spot and sit for as long as it took (often hours) for my racing heart or angry tears to morph into an expansive feeling in my chest, usually by listening and observing the natural world around me. If it was early evening, I might hear the howling of the wolf pack living across the lake. In summer, I’d watch geese and ducks float by. If quiet enough, I’d sometimes glimpse a sly fox hunting one of those ducks or the active fish skimming the surface for midges and blackflies.
My stepfather didn’t like to camp in the traditional way people camp today. He’d say (or shout), “We’re not sleeping next to people like sardines in a can, eh!” So, he would pack up the truck with everything we might need for a week and drive north into the deepest wilds the truck could navigate. Tiny old roads with thick underbrush on each side, through creeks, and around sketchy bends until he found what he was looking for—an isolated lake with no one within at least fifty miles of us. Then, we’d spend hours setting up the canvas tent, building a campfire circle with rocks, gathering wood, dropping the canoes by the lake’s edge, and carrying water. The first night was usually hot dogs and marshmallows roasted over the fire.
On one such outing, when I was about fourteen or so, my brother and I decided to circumnavigate the whole lake. He said, “Let’s be Voyagers!” So, off we went. We left in the early morning, a slight mist rising off the lake. A crescent moon was still visible on the low horizon. At certain times, we’d hug the shoreline, thinking we might see a turtle or catch sight of a moose. Rounding a small egress, we came upon a loon’s nest. The female covered her body over the nest and let her head droop into the water to camouflage herself and the eggs. I motioned for my brother to stop paddling and pointed. His mouth dropped, and his eyebrows lifted. We backpaddled slightly to keep the canoe still and to watch. The mama loon didn’t move until she heard the male loon calling from above. She rose from her position, flapped her wings, made a wailing sound, and hurried across the water before rising into the air, exposing two perfect olive green-brown speckled eggs. The sight tugged at my heartstrings. It may have been only a few minutes, but it still warms my heart when I think of it. It was as if I was the first human to see such a thing. Such wonder! We left quickly and never returned, yet I listened intently to their eerie, beautiful calls every evening, making me feel as light as one of those black and white loon feathers.
Next Thursday is American Thanksgiving –a celebratory time to be with family and friends and to give thanks. I am thankful for a lot: my family, my friends, my readers, my health, where I live, the abundance of food and water and good fortune, and last but certainly not least, all the health-giving opportunities nature has provided me all these years, which have kept my heart open against all the odds. Thank you.
“Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o’er the ranges
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?…
Then listen to the Wild –it’s calling you.”
Robert Service
Enjoy the Passage of Time.
Sharon
© 2024. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.
