Walking Home

Nature is the greatest teacher of all.  I learned that again when I recently went on a brief but meaningful trip to a beautiful part of the world, just a few hours drive from where I live.  I hiked along trails with my sister-the-minister on the Bruce Peninsula in central Ontario, and took a boat ride to Flower Pot Island on Georgian Bay, where we swam off its rocky shores in crystal clear, blue-green water.
We covered a lot of ground in a few short hours each day.  It was by no means serious hiking; I just wanted to spend some time in spectacular scenery, breathing in fresh, woodsy air, and feeling glad to be alive.  Mission accomplished.

The short sojourn wasn't without its physical and emotional challenges, however.  My sister, who is an inveterate hiker, and who also served as my tour guide, took me along some very difficult terrain on the Bruce Trail.  She's familiar with the various trails because she's walked them numerous times.  And if that weren't enough to qualify her as an expert guide, two years ago she walked the entire 885 kilometres of the Bruce Trail from Queenston to Tobermory.  It took her two months and all her heart and soul.  No wonder she considers that journey a bona fide pilgrimage. 
The portion we walked along wasn't especially strenuous, but it was certainly difficult, even treacherous at times, due to very rocky, slippery ground .  Normally I enjoy walking, even if it's a tough physical workout.  However, the "walking" we did (at times it was more like clambering) proved to be more of a mental workout than a physical one.  It was slow going and required absolute focus and constant vigilance.  Looking up at the forest canopy or checking out the surrounding scenery was out of the question.  My eyes were glued to the hazardous, rocky path.  If I let my attention lapse for even a moment, I would slip and almost lose my footing.  Although I didn't really enjoy traversing those trails, I'm glad I did it.  Once we finished negotiating the rough patches I was able to relax and enjoy the vistas.
All in all, it was a rich and fulfilling time.  I gained a new respect for my sister, who's a talented nature photographer as well, and has the requisite sensitivity and patience for capturing rare, fleeting moments of the myriad wildlife that inhabit the lacustrine land we visited.  She interacts with wildlife galore on a daily basis, but her special animal and spirit guide is most surely the Turtle.
The road in front of my sister's home in the country is visited every spring by snapping turtles who lay eggs in the sandy earth on the side of the road.  The turtles were nesting there for many generations long before the road was built.  Their nests are a short distance from the Beaver River, where the baby turtles instinctively migrate soon after hatching.  This means they have to cross a fairly busy country road to get to the river.  As a result, there are several Turtle Crossing signs along the stretch of road near my sister's home.  My sister has saved numerous mother and baby turtles over the years, often getting out of her car to pick up a turtle or two that she's spotted making their precarious way across the road.  It has earned her the nickname "Turtle Girl," or Tg for short.

Despite my sister's penchant for finding turtles, we didn't encounter any on our various walks through the Bruce Peninsula and some of its marshes. Nevertheless we headed home after two solid days of the great outdoors feeling tired but happy.  We were just minutes from my sister's place when I noticed something reddish-brown in colour appear to fly into the front left wheel of the car.  From where I sat in the passenger's seat I thought it might have been a monarch butterfly; but when my sister suddenly swore gravely under her breath I knew we had probably struck a small animal.  It turned out to be a chipmunk. 
Chipmunks have got to be the cutest and most endearing animals of the rodent kingdom, so my sister and I were very suddenly plunged into the saddest of moods.  The timing couldn't have been worse.  We were mere minutes from home after a wonderful trip and in such good spirits, and then bam!  We ran over a little animal.  What kind of karma was that?
Well, it wasn't karma at all.  It was just plain bad luck. It's a part of life.  Shit happens. 
I suppose some of my regular readers might wonder how I can say that when I'm always going on about karma.  But not everything's always about karma and payback.  There are random occurrences in the Universe.  Lots of them.  All over the place and all the time.  Coincidence and synchronicity would have no meaning if there weren't randomness.  When the poor little chipmunk crossed the path of the car my sister and I were in, it was an accident without any meaning, which makes it even sadder.  And so, with just minutes to go before we arrived home, my sister and I fell into a deep funk.  Damn.

We sat silently lamenting the sad ending to a happy time when my sister suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road, only steps from her home.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
My sister didn't answer.  She jumped out of the car and ran back down the road.  I followed, and saw her stop and pick something up from the yellow median.  When I arrived a few moments later, I could see she was holding a tiny snapping turtle, perfectly formed and distinguished by its long tail. 
"How on earth did you spot that little thing?" I wondered aloud.
"It's what I do," was her reply.
Although I already knew that about my sister, I had now witnessed it for myself.  I mentioned the remarkable retrieval of the tiny turtle to her husband a few minutes later when we got home.
"She's got The Vision," he told me.  And he didn't mean her eyesight, because she wears glasses.  I couldn't help feel a little bit envious of my sister's special gift.  But mostly I felt proud, and happy again.  A sad ending to a lovely little holiday had been redeemed.
If the accidental death of the little chipmunk was random, saving the baby turtle from the same fate was not.  Neither my sister nor I deserved to have our time together spoiled, and somehow fortune intervened to set things right.  That baby turtle crossing the road at exactly that time was no accident.  Sure, baby turtles frequently cross that road to get to the river (although the little guy my sister saved was born very late in the season), but the placement and timing of the one that saved our vacation was just a little too perfect to be mere chance.
Accidents happen.  So does magic.  But magic, by its very nature, happens far less frequently.  Saving the baby turtle restored a sense of balance to my time spent with my sister. 
As spirit guides, turtles and tortoises represent patience, the way of peace, wisdom, and Mother Earth.  They are also keepers of portals into the Otherworld.  So I felt deeply blessed when my sister gave me the honour and pleasure of releasing the baby turtle on the river bank myself.
I learned a lot about patience and peace in my brief time in the woods with my sister, and I can't help thinking that the baby turtle appeared to make sure I never forget those lessons.  My mini-vacation taught me that I wasn't as patient or wise as I thought. 
The acquisition of wisdom doesn't have to be fraught with hardship.  Of course we can, and should, learn from our mistakes.  But knowledge is also derived from being still and silent.  Much wisdom is gained from deep listening.  I wrote about that very topic in my first book a number of years ago.  I'd forgotten my own words about a subject that's very dear to me.  So I shall end this brief meditation by quoting myself...
Take time out from the fast-paced, high-tech world to return to nature.  Like giant fir trees that have stood for hundreds of years, ostensibly doing nothing, reaching maturity and finding peace is a gentle process, and one that requires infinite patience.
Blessed be.
- G.P.