Where the Wild Leeks Grow

We used to walk in a different forest, a forest that I loved, before this stay at home time.  But it is closed to the public now.  For a while we walked the public paved trail along Georgian Bay, but it is getting busier with the nice weather and harder to socially distance from joggers and bikers.  This forced us to explore our area, to expand our thinking and our possibilities and we found one of the many locations of the Simcoe County Forest that is still open.  So, we started exploring. 

In the 1800’s, European settlers came to this area which was mostly forest, lake and stream.  Thinking that the forests were inexhaustible, they cut the trees down to clear land for agriculture and to use as timber for buildings and ships.  This went on for one hundred years.  The wood left from logging was burned and this destroyed the soil. Eventually, all that was left was barren plain.  The sandy soil was not suited to farming and what was left of it began to erode.  Most farms were abandoned.

A long time Simcoe County resident and politician, E.C. Drury became the Premier of Ontario in 1919 and he was instrumental in creating legislation that allowed municipalities to buy land and reforest it.  Between 1922 and 1927 over 1,300,000 trees were planted on one tract of land in Simcoe County.  Over the next 20 years another 10,000,000 trees were planted throughout the county forming what is now called Simcoe County Forest (SCF).  After only 26 years, all of the deforested land had been planted.  The trees stabilized the sandy soil and the land was being rehabilitated.  SCF then began purchasing land that was already wooded to protect it and to open it up to the public.  This is still going on today.  This forest is now 33,000 acres in size and it is the largest municipally owned forest in Southern Ontario.

Near the road where we parked our car, we met an older man walking his dog.  We stopped to say hi from a more than respectful distance.  He had lots of stories about that part of the forest to tell.  I mentioned that I saw a pile of stones at the base of a tree that looked like the kind of a structure that a farmer creates when he picks stones from the fields.  The man pointed towards the road and told us that the foundation of the old house was still there.  So, once we had finished our conversation we walked to where he had pointed and there was a stone foundation for a small house.  Trees now grew in the middle of the cellar, speaking of the power of the forest to reclaim the land as its own.

You can see the stone foundation behind the trees

Red and White Pines planted in rows

It is obvious, which part of the forest was rehabilitated by the municipal government because the Red and White Pines are planted in straight lines. Not much else grows there between the trees.  But, when you think about it being a thick forest two hundred years ago and a desert one hundred years ago, it seems pretty amazing to be looking up eighty or ninety feet to the tops of the trees.

Once you walk through that part towards the river, you come to a mixed hardwood bush that seems to have created itself.  This section must have been added on later, or perhaps because it is a bit wet and on a slope, it wasn’t cleared for farming. 

Wild Leek shoots growing through an old Red Oak leaf.

Like "natuel archeologists", we searched for clues.  And that is when another miracle emerged.

This is not the first time that the miracle has occurred nor I hope will it be the last.  But that doesn’t deter from its magic.  From under the dead brown maple, oak and beech leaves, life is rising up.  It started with the Wild Leeks.  We saw tiny green shoots just above the dull brown forest floor and went to investigate.  When we got close enough, we realized that they were Wild Leeks, that most coveted of gourmet wild food.  It looked like there were a few small patches of them.  But as the weeks have gone by, the leeks are growing taller and more patches are emerging.  This morning, they were a bright emerald green in the early slanted sun.  We are allowed to pick them for personal use and we have taken just a few leaves to add to our meals.  But the colour of them is what really feeds my spirit.  I stood there soaking it in with my eyes and what felt like my whole body.

A patch of Wild Leeks backlit by the morning sun

Trout Lily leaves rsing from last fall's leaves on the forest floor.

Around the leeks are the mottled leaves of Trout Lilies.  These tiny spring plants have one leaf and one bell shaped yellow flower.  So far, they haven’t flowered and there are just lots of leaves poking up that look like the “camo” gear that hunters wear. 

Their neighbours are the Blue Cohosh plants that have risen up and are ready to unfurl and spread out.  They are hard to detect because of their dark colour but in the bright morning light, they became visible. 

The Sharp-Lobed Hepatica are flowering already.  Their white petals shine out in the sun.  And then this morning, for the first time this spring, we found Trillium leaves just opened above the leaf litter with flower buds in the centre of their three leaves.  We also saw one single Bloodroot leaf, still curled around it's stem poking up.

Blue Cohosh stems and leaves unfurl.

Sharp-Lobed Hepatica flowers are the first flowers to emerge.

                                                .

The tri-leaf of Trillium witha flower bud in the centre.

We know from other mixed hardwood forests that we have spent time in, that Wild Leeks, Wild Garlic, Trout Lilies, Blue Cohosh and Trilliums are part of the same community.  And so, we are imagining that as the Wild Leek leaves finish creating sugar for the bulbs and the flowers, they will die back.  Their green will be replaced by the green and white and perhaps red of thousands of Trilliums.  All of this will happen before the trees get their leaves and the sunshine becomes less available for the forest floor dwellers.  And then we know that the fresh green of Maple and Beech leaves will create a bright green world in the forest when the sun shines.

We are new to this particular forest, but not new to the community that lives in part of it.  We expect to see May Apples Jack-in-the-pulpit, Spring Beauties Mayflowers and perhaps Baneberry appear in a little while as well.  Somehow, this new forest feels like home to us. We have watched the parade of plants for years now.  The predictability, the normalcy of it is like medicine.  And, as we spend time in this forest, getting to know this place, all the life that lives there will get to know us as well.  We will form relationships with the trees and plants there, with the Sturgeon River that runs through it and with the insect life as it returns, hatches and swarms. We have heard many woodpeckers and a few other birds.  This morning we surprised a Red Squirrel doing its rounds.  There are deer and coyotes there as well but so far we haven’t seen them. The gentleman we met near the foundation told us that the river is high enough for salmon to come up the river to spawn.

Flowering Wintergreen leaves and berry

And there are surprises as well.  Much of the forest floor near the river and in the plantation area, is covered by Flowering Wintergreen pictured here with a berry.  We have seen that before elsewhere but never the flower.  Our research tells us that it has a showy flower which gives the plant its common names "Gaywings" or "Bird on the wing".  So now, when we visit, we will be watching for those.

In this time when we can't be so many places, we are getting to know the land near our home.  She is happy to have company and has no end of delights to share.  We know that we are not alone in this.  We know that we are connected not just to the forest, but to all the people who are spending this time getting to know nature better.  Although we are physically distancing, we are in good company.  

The Wisdom of the Trees

You can see the poined new leaf furled at the
 base of the old leaf.

Walking in a mixed forest, I am struck by the diversity of the trees.  Now, in mid-April, the Beech trees are getting my attention.  The smaller trees tend to hold onto their papery yellowish leaves all winter.  I stopped to look closely at one.  The end of the branch has a new long, pointed leaf bud just waiting to unfurl.  And just below it is the stalk of last year’s leaf waiting to be pushed off as the new leaf grows.  This reminded me of people who don’t accept change until the very last minute.

The old Beech tree

We come across a broken down great-grandmother Beech surrounded by her great grandchildren.  Nearby we see one of her children and many more grandchildren.  She has spread her seeds far and wide.  This reminded me of people who have large families that stay close together.

The ancient Celts included Beech (Phagos) in their Ogham alphabet.  Beech was concerned with ancient knowledge as it was revealed through old objects, places and writing.  While things that no longer work, like a dried up leaf, must be released, there is wisdom from the past that can be carried forward.  That is the work that we must all do during this time, figuring out what to take with us and what to discard.  Beech is showing me that many of the seeds we plant in our life will grow and create their own seeds.  What do I want to seed, to feed, to fund as I go forward?

Great-grandmother Beech centre surrounded by her family

You can see the thick stumps of the
old tree trunks that have rotted

The other day, I saw an old Weeping Willow tree that had huge stumps at its base and lots of new branches and shoots coming out of those stumps.  Willow doesn't have very strong wood and the big trunks and branches often collapse and then the roots send out new shoots.  I think of people who suffer all kinds of losses and still manage to launch new ideas, new relationships and keep on growing. 

Willow (Saille) is another letter in the Ogham alphabet.  Since Willow is so closely connected to water which is governed by the moon, it stood for the female and lunar rhythms in life.  This old willow and the pussywillows I am rooting in a vase teach me about the relationship between water and life.  “Water is Life” is spoken by Indigenous water keepers and water walkers.  The old wisdom is informing our future choices.

You can see all of the new growth above the old stumps
that will soon burst into leaf.

We walk down a steep slope, following the trail to the Sturgeon River which runs along the bottom of the gorge.  It tumbles over rocks and sings happily.  It sweeps past fallen logs creating sandbars and deep pools that fish love.  The sound of the river is like music.  It is like medicine to us and we stand for a long while soaking it in.   I remember the poem Fluent  by John O'Donohue:

"I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding." 

Along the shore grow Eastern White Cedars who also love to have their feet wet.  Cedar did not grow in Celtic Europe so there is no mention of it in my Ogham book.  Cedar is sacred to the Anishinaabe and there are many teachings about cedar that have been shared with me.  But those are not my teachings to tell.  I do know that Cedar groves feel sacred to me.  There is one close to my home and it is a place where I feel safe, protected and peaceful.  Cedars grow in clumps that remind me of families.  Their fallen needles prevent other plants from growing there so the forest floor is a rusty carpet.

One cedar here on the riverbank has moss growing at the base of its trunk.  It looks like the green foot of some creature.  Two other cedars look like people to me.  Everywhere, I see mythical shapes as though they are about to share a story with me.  

Some days,during this stay at home time we boil cedar needles in water on the stove.  The smell is comforting and the resins help with immunity.  It is like the forest has come into our home for a visit and a cup of tea.

Canada Yew is a low bush with bright red berries

The last tree that I am going to mention is the Canada Yew (Taxus canadensis) which I discovered growing in a nearby forest.  The Yew Tree was the last letter in the Ogham alphabet.  Since all parts of the tree except perhaps the berry, are poisonous, this tree represented death and rebirth.  The rebirth was because the tree could lose a trunk and then regrow a new branch in the same space.  It also put its branches onto the ground, grew roots from where the branch touched and put up a new trunk.  Some Yews in Britain are 1600 years old.  They are often found in cemetaries and were known as the grieving trees.  The anti-cancer chemotherapy family, the taxols, come from this tree as well.

So, once again, the trees were telling me about death, rebirth, and resiliency, about endings and beginnings.  About old wisdom rising. 

We found the Canada Yew growing in groups, or perhaps it is all one organism.

So, Happy 50th Earth Day!  Here is the Children's Earth Choir singing a song for the trees.  Sing along with them as though no one is listening!

The Whispering Tree

Aspen trees have been getting my attention this week, as I have walked many kilometers on trails where few people go.  In bright sunlight they gleam almost as brightly as White Birches but in lower light, their smooth bark provides a subtle palette of soft greys.  There are a few buds but still no leaves, so the architectural beauty of their branches stands out against the greens of Cedars, Pines and Balsams.

When Aspens are in full leaf, they are the voice of the wind.  The long, flat petioles at the base of each leaf are designed so that the leaves “tremble” in the wind, hence the name Trembling Aspen (Populus tremuloides). The ancient Celts called them the “whispering” trees that brought messages via the wind from elsewhere. The leaves can sound like a waterfall.  And that is not the only connection they have to water.  Aspens and Willows are found in wet areas and they take in a lot of water through their roots which they can purify and release as water vapour that become clouds. The inner bark is edible to humans but delicious for beavers as it is one of their favourite foods.

One day last week as I was walking by a grove of Aspens, one in particular grabbed my attention.  Sometime in the past, the bark had split around the height of my face.  The bark had curled inward to seal off the wound but the heartwood of the tree was exposed for a length of about two feet.  It seems that insects had burrowed into the wood and then a hungry woodpecker had drilled several holes into the heartwood.  This may eventually cause rot which will bring that particular trunk down.  But the thing about Aspens is that they have large roots that send up new suckers or trunks which are all clones of one another.  In this way, they form a huge organism that can live for a very long time, even thousands o years. Well, that is the scientific knowledge that we know about Aspens.

To my artist’s eye, what I saw was an ancient, spectral face looking out at me from the heartwood of the Aspen.  I walked over and looked the face right in its hollow eyes.  It was kind of eerie as though the spirit of the tree was looking right at me.  I wondered what she would say if I could hear her, what message she might whisper.  

The ancient Celts' worldview was based on knowledge learned from trees.  In their Ogham alphabet each letter was represented by a tree. When they were invaded by the Romans and then the British, the trees were mostly cut down so that the knowledge would be replaced by Christianity.  Most sacred trees were then deemed to be evil so that the old ways would be feared.  But the knowledge didn’t disappear entirely.  Looking for clues, I consulted some books I have on the Ogham alphabet and the ancient teaching about Aspen.

The Aspen or Eadha (prounounced Eva) was the vowel “E” and it was associated with Samhain or the Celtic New Year which is our Hallowe'en.  It was a transition or threshold tree that represented death and rebirth.  It was called the “whispering” or “talking” tree because of its association with the wind and the messages that came on the wind.  It was thought to be a tree that could calm you down if you let the tree do the trembling for you.  

Aspen thought to be helpful in finding the strength and endurance to face the harsh and often unexpected realities of life, often over a long period of time.  This tree is able to resist drought and its wood was used to make shields by the ancient Greeks and Celts.  It's name comes from the Greek word "aspis" which means shield.  Aspen was thought to have a protective quality.  Also, if a trunk dies, the roots will just send up a new sucker, hence its connection to death and rebirth.    

When I read this, it seemed to fit beautifully with this time that we are all going through.  There is much death energy present right now through actual death, fear of death, the loss of our normal lives, and the grieving that goes along with all of those losses.  There is much fear and anxiety floating around as well, especially if you listen to the news.  So, how comforting to have this ancient face lead me to discover knowledge from my own ancestors about the ability to endure challenges over long periods of time.  

We know that things won’t go back to the way they were.  Some trunks will fall.  But underneath it all, we are connected and there are so many new shoots rising from our collective roots at this moment as space is made for them by the old trunks falling.  Aspen teaches me about rebirth.

Perhaps it is time to listen to the trees and their ancient knowledge and to the  Indigenous knowledge keepers.  Ideas about trees being evil need to fall away as does the idea that nature should be dominated.  The ancient roots are sending up new growth to bring us back into balance.

Today, we were clearing up cans and bottles in a local park (with gloves on) and I came across a fallen Aspen trunk with beautiful rust coloured bracket fungi growing on it.  The fungi will break the old trunk back into its essential elements which will be reconfigured as something new providing another lesson about death and rebirth.

I am finding solace and strength in the compassion and caring that people are bringing to this time. I am encouraged and delighted at the ingenuity and creativity being used to find solutions.  But what is keeping me grounded and balanced is my time spent outside.  Just as my ancient ancestors were, I am comforted by the messages whispered by Aspen.  

Culling the Raspberry Canes

I have been using this time of staying at home to work in the garden.  I am a poor fall clean up person but I love spring cleaning in the garden once the weather is warmer.  There is something magical about raking brown oak leaves off of the garden and finding new green shoots hidden below.  It is like opening a Christmas present.  Sometimes, I like to get down on my hands and knees and see what is emerging from up close.  I don’t remember where I have planted everything so it is like a wonderful surprise every spring.  I recognize the shoots of crocus, tulip and iris but other things require patience and daily checking to discover what gift is rising up to greet me.

One of the things I really enjoy is cleaning up the raspberry patches.  Raspberries have canes that grew last year which will produce fruit this fall and canes that produced fruit last year and are now dead.  Cleaning out the dead ones makes room for new shoots to emerge this year which will fruit next year.  It is slow work as each cane needs to be examined for life, in the form of tiny leaf buds beginning to show.  The dead canes break off fairly easily and then they need to be piled up and taken away.  All this time, the thorns on the canes grab at my mittens, coat and hat.  The occasional scratch is inevitable.  For some reason, I find this job very satisfying (as opposed to spring cleaning the house which so far I have avoided).  And this year, culling the raspberry canes became more important than ever. 

I imagined making similar choices in my life.  Which habits, patterns, or things no longer bear fruit?  How will there be space to create, to grow new habits and patterns if the ground is all crowded in?  None of us will be the same after this event.  However, the more conscious we are about what aspects of our lives that we want to carry forward, the better.  Some things just won’t seem so important after living through this time and those canes will easily fall away.  Others may need to be broken off more consciously. 

I am taking part in a number of free on-line courses that are being offered to help people get through this time as well as becoming more conscious about their lives.  I hear many of the instructors speak about anxiety.  I am using this time to find better ways of dealing with anxiety.  On an on-line webinar, Tibetan Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron suggested that we could get better at being with uncertainty during this time. I have heard much of this before but I was too busy to practice it.  Now, I have an abundance of time and lots of free floating anxiety to work with.  Sounds like some expensive retreat!  Whatever I learn during this time will be kept in my reservoir of resiliency and it will serve me well in the future.

The canes of community will be kept.  I have participated in a number of Zoom calls with family, a comedy night and a musical open mic with friends.  How wonderful it is to see the faces of people I know and love.  I feel stronger, less alone, more able to cope.  I sleep better.  I suspect that we need to build even stronger communities.  Before this event, I was too overwhelmed to even try a Zoom call.  It turns out that they are ridiculously easy once one is motivated by isolation.

Paying attention to where I actually am and being in the moment is another thing that I am consciously practicing (at times).  One evening, my partner and I were walking by the lake and I was in my head trying to process another piece of the “news”.   Suddenly, my partner gestured to look up.  High above us were 25 Turkey Vultures riding the west wind coming off of the lake.  We had noticed a few that had migrated back to our shores earlier in the week, but here they were all together, gracefully soaring.  Some Indigenous people call them Peace Eagles because they eat things that are dead and clean up the environment. This reminded me of clearing up the raspberry patch.  Watching them soar and defy gravity by understanding how to use the wind, lifted my heart.  After cleaning up Earth, they take to the skies and fly with their community apparently to reconnect before roosting for the night or maybe because it feels good.  I don't know for sure but it seems like a celebration to me and I joined in the feeling of community celebration.  They became part of my community in that moment.

I am looking carefully at anything green that comes up, for wild edibles.  I have noticed for the first time that Motherwort seems to be one of the first plants to appear.  It is possible to make a remedy for anxiety with the fresh leaves.  I feel Mother Earth reaching out to us when I see the Motherwort leaves.   Earlier this week, while walking by a forest, I noticed a lot of heart shaped serrated green leaves close to the forest floor.  I picked one and rubbed it in my fingers.  It smelled slightly like onion or garlic.  Perhaps the Garlic Mustard plants are appearing.  The early settlers brought these plants from Europe to eat.  However, they escaped and we don’t eat them anymore so they are now invasive and fairly abundant if you know where to look.  Last spring, I found a place where they come up near my home.  I waited for the flowers to blossom to positively identify them.  However, they are best eaten before they flower.  This year, I will recognize them and pick them to cook and eat.  I love to eat the first greens of the year; dandelion, plantain, nettles, early shoots of day lilies.  I crave green and it is a spring ritual for me.  This year, they seem safer than lettuce in the grocery store.  Growing and eating wild food is something I will definitely carry after this time.  Eating fast food may not make it through however.  In these quiet days, I have enjoyed eating more slowly, savouring the flavours and being more grateful for it.

It is surprising what people leave on the side of a trail

We have been walking a 30 km trail in pieces.  There are barely any other people out there and walking is good for the body, mind and emotions.  My partner carries a garbage bag and picks up the garbage that snowmobilers left this winter.  After a week or so, we have filled up two recycling bins with cans and bottles left on the trail side.  It feels like a way to show respect for Earth.  And Earth has rewarded us with the sight of a doe crossing the road, a Turkey Vulture eating at the side of another road, and the sound of a large group of Green Frogs calling from a vernal pool.   Last night we were regaled by a chorus of Spring Peepers in a vernal pool by a different trail.  We stood and soaked it in.  Live music will stay on the list.

Look carefully on the left bank for the female Mallard
 who is well camouflaged.

This morning we walked slowly past two pairs of Mallard Ducks setting up nesting sites. Lovely purple Croci are flowering in the garden. The beautiful sound of small waterfalls as the runoff continues, the sun warming our backs, the smell of the soil warming up, the buds beckoning from tree branches and the sound of birdsong from the trees all delight and allow our hearts to soften, our lungs to breath in a bit more deeply and our bodies to relax.  Paying attention and being present is something I want to keep.

It doesn’t seem to make sense to just hold our breath and wait for this all to pass so we can go back to business as usual.  The more that we can adapt and learn, the better it will be for us and for our world.  We are rewriting our story here, and the more conscious we can be about what we want to midwife into being and what we want to help fall away, the better.

Oh and I will definitely be keeping my love of pussywillows!

This sight made my heart sing!

Gratitude on the Edge

It’s just over two weeks that I have been staying at home.  I have slowed down a lot and the day seems to pass quickly when I am not watching the clock.  Last week we walked on a limestone shaving path along the marshland beside Matchedash Bay.  This part of the path starts at the edge of our village and it is a favourite of dog walkers. 

Due to the marshy conditions, there are quite a lot of pussy willow bushes to be found and they are sporting their soft grey catkins that give the bush its colloquial name.  I’m not sure which of the myriad of willows it really is because the leaves are part of the identification process and there are no leaves yet.  I rub the soft grey fuzziness along my cheek and remember my life long love for this plant. 

I remember how a man in a tree nursery gave me three cuttings when I was a child and told me to put them in water, wait until they rooted and plant them.  I remember the amazing feeling of knowing that I could create with nature to have a pussy willow in my back yard even though my father didn’t want to buy one.  Every spring, I still root pussy willows and plant them. As I stand before the bushes this morning, I remember that knowledge and I breathe it out for all of us, into the wind, into the collective unconscious, into our consciousnesses.  These are extraordinary times and I am willing to give it a go.

Everywhere I look, the Earth is waking up with spring.  I feel a warm, nurturing presence bursting with new life.  Like a mother, she seems to be saying, “let’s repair our relationship.  I am still here to support you.  I am your mother.”  We have been like ungrateful children, taking too much and not stopping to thank her.  But, she is still willing to support us, to bring us health, to bring forth life.  And since I can’t change everyone or even anyone, I articulate my gratitude to her.  I feel my booted feet walk on the soft trail and I try to walk gently, with reverence, with respect.  Here on the edge, I am so much more grateful for things I used to breeze past without even noticing. 

People are coming up with ideas, fast and furious, to stay connected.  I took part in my first Zoom meeting which my son set up for the family.  We laughed and watched each other cook supper, eat supper, take us on a tour of their homes.  I felt warmed by the call all through the night.  I see on-line courses, book clubs, yoga classes all just popping up.  At the grocery store, a plexiglass partition had “popped up” between the clerk and the customers.  I am amazed by our creativity.  I also see people reporting on-line that they are out walking more, noticing spring, renewing their relationships with nature. 

As a mother, I know what it’s like to have the kids leave home.  They get too busy to call, busy with their own lives, believing that mom will be there forever, whenever needed.  I imagine Earth as our mother, patiently waiting for us to call, for us to offer thanks, for us to care for her while we believe that she will be fine without our respect.  And, being a mother, I believe that she is still wanting to be in relationship with us.  And I am trying, in these days on the edge, to be a better child, to remember the family of life that I belong to.  Just like the Zoom call, I see the water, the sun, the trees, the marsh, the pussy willows and know that this is my family.