The
other evening, after doing some yard work, and finding myself alone, I
sat cross-legged on the bench at the end of our deck (picture below)
and looked back at the house (picture above) and just thought.
This is my place, I thought. Not in the sense that I own it. Not in the sense that it represents my station in life. But in the sense that I belong to it. I am a part of it. This mostly-wild area, with the kettle pond that goes green with algae in the summer, to the delight of the beavers and ducks and spring peeper frogs and herons. With the place I mow, where I run three times a week, winter and summer, that the geese, and the raccoons, and the red foxes, and wild turkeys, and rabbits, and my little friend puc puc, all love. With the gardens and walkways my wife tends with loving care, and the plants that grow wild. With the myriad of tiny wild creatures. The family members and great neighbours who drop by. The astonishing change of seasons. The stunning sunrises and sunsets. And the birds at the feeder, of course. I am a part of all this, my place, the place I belong.
And
as I sat there listening to the frogs and watching a bat skimming the
surface of the pool looking for insects, and breathing slowly and
deeply, I realized that the reason the birds and animals have become so
tame around me is not a Gaia connection but the fact that my smell is now a part of this place,
from running around sweating, from lying in the grass, from constantly
repairing the bird feeders after squirrel and raccoon deconstruction.
The wild creatures recognize me as belonging to this place, which is
their place, too.
While I always used to want to travel,
now I'm more than content to spend my leisure time, my time for
discovery and contemplation, in my place. As I become more attentive,
I've learned that this place still has a million mysteries to show me.
The work I do in this place is never a chore -- mowing the lawn,
power-washing the decks, vacuuming the pool, and my 5k runs, are all
forms of meditation, relaxation, connection. And despite all the time I
spend out in my place, I am always discovering new and astonishing
creatures, noticing things I'd never noticed before.
I imagine
this place as it was before humans arrived. It is moraine land, and
what grew here 40,000 years ago before the last ice age, and 20,000 years ago
when the ice retreated again, and even 5,000 and 2,000 years ago, and
what grows here now are very different. But somehow it is still the
same place. The trees and plants and creatures, including me, that now
belong to this place were meant to be here, we chose this place,
together, as our home.
When
I speak to people who have lived their entire lives in the city, they
can't understand this, though I get indulgent smiles from them. And I
know people who live in this paradise who still see it as just a lot of
work, as something to improve, to keep 'up'.
Wilderland.
Wonderland. I wish everyone could find it, feel it. Know their place.
Belong to it, and through it, belong to all-life-on-Earth.
If everyone knew, maybe it wouldn't be too late.
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MADE IN CANADA
trust your
instincts 
