The Secret of Slush

 

In March, my partner and I like to hike the trail from Orillia to Midland and back.  We do this in segments.  Each day, we drive to a part of the trail, park the car, hike for a while and walk back.  Then the next day we do the next part of the trail.  In total this is about 97 km.  This has been a COVID adaptation and this will be the third March that we are walking it.  It gives us a doable mission for the day and a sense of accomplishment as we wait for the snow and ice to melt away.

On day one, the trail which is also used by snowmobilers, was hardpacked and solid.  It wasn’t slippery and walking was fairly easy.  On day two, however, the snow had started to melt and the snow pack collapsed with each step.  The snow was getting slushy and my winter boots weren’t as waterproof as I would have liked so my feet got wet.  The going was slow and all my attention was on my legs and feet.

It reasons that in the late winter/early spring there will be times when the snowpack melts and collapses with each step.   Afterall, this is a transition time between the seasons and transitions are always awkward and somewhat difficult.  This is what walking in a transition feels like; what was solid gives way with a jolt into something slushy and cold.  Winter boots are not gumboots and your feet get wet.  But gumboots don’t have enough tread to walk on the icy patches.  There is no perfect solution but to put plastic bags over my socks before I put them in the winter boots.  Not a very good fashion look but one I remember from my childhood.

As I trudged along, stepping, sinking, and extricating over and over again, it occurred to me, that this was the perfect metaphor for the world right now.  We are in a transition from one way of being to another.  So, the slush taught me, it stands to reason that navigating each day is going to be somewhat confusing and challenging.  

For example, I belong to a group of storytellers who used to hold events in person as did everyone else.  Two years of meeting on zoom and occasionally outside has given us the confidence to hold a larger event on-line.  As we struggle to learn registration platforms, ways to receive donations, ways to promote the event and the grand finale of the webinar platform for the final event, it has at times felt like trudging through a melting snowpack.  We have had to enlist the help of those who are more proficient in these platforms to sort out technical issues and climb a steep learning curve.  Only our belief in the importance of the event has kept us going for the past three months and the fact that we are each tackling different jobs that all require learning and then reporting back to the group.

On day three of our hike I was shocked to discover a bare trail of earth and limestone screening.  The earth had melted a little and I could feel the bounce of it under my feet which stayed dry.  I was so happy that I did a little dance.  The smell of the warming earth made me smile.  I walked along easily enjoying the give and take of the Earth beneath my feet.  It wasn't that the Earth felt solid but more that it felt responsive and rhythmic.

One of my jobs for the storytelling event was promotion.  I worked with one other member and we divided up the list that had been created when we applied for a grant months ago.  I made my own list of organizations and people that I am connected to.  The other member visited libraries and grocery stores as well as sending the press release to various media outlets.  We both noticed that people were keen to pass along the information.  There was an enthusiasm that was palpable.

Two years ago, we had planned the same event which featured an Elder from a local First Nation telling the story of a significant Indigenous archaeological site that is 5000 years old.  This was in March 2020 when everything suddenly shut down.  In June 2021, the unmarked graves of 215 children were discovered on the grounds of a former Indian Residential School in Kamloops, BC.  Shortly after that more graves were located with ground penetrating radar.  The numbers went up and up.  Many Canadians woke up, started to pay attention and learn more about the actual history of Canada.  And now, nine months later, many non-Indigenous people are looking for ways to honour that truth and ways to learn more.

As we sent out promotional materials, we heard back from people that they thought that this was a really important event.  They emailed friends, colleagues and shared posters.  They sent it out to their own networks.  I imagined the mycorrhizal filaments of the forest floor lighting up as the information spread across the lines of relationships that had grown during the two years of an ever-changing landscape.  What started off as two women promoting the event became dozens of people promoting the event.  The number of registrations kept going up in little bursts as new groups of relationships lit up.

The past two years have been hard slogging, a bit like walking in slush.  What felt solid repeatedly collapsed and people have become fatigued with the uncertainty.  But what planning this event has taught me is that the world has indeed changed over this transition.  And it will keep on changing, I am sure.

When we finally got to the on-line event, the Indigenous storytellers captured the audience’s attention and formed relationships across the interface of devices.  People reported feeling as though they were sitting with a group of friends.  People’s hearts and minds were touched by the ancient stories brought to life by the storytellers.  It was beautiful and humbling.  It felt like walking on the bare earth with the give and take of hearts beating together.