Making It Up As I Go Along #340

MONDAY...
— Tired day... again. But I get through okay. Have my first toasted tomato sandwich ever... Janice offers up some tomato for it. Not half bad.
— Watch some baseball in the evening. White Sox and Twins will have to have a one game playoff tomorrow... should be good.

TUESDAY...
— Groceries on the way home.
— Pizza Hut does a commercial tonight advertising a particular pizza that’s available any day of the week for $6. What makes the ad less effective is the fact that there’s a spoken disclaimer, at the end of the ad, saying “prices may vary.” Corporations must really think people are stupid.
— Watch baseball again tonight. Sox beet the Twins... too bad but a pretty good game.

WEDNESDAY...
— Work’s alright. The training is going a bit better after the initial feeling of being tossed into the deep end.
— Watch some baseball playoffs tonight with a walk around the pond in the middle of it. Cool fall day but fine enough for a pond walk with few others.

THURSDAY...
— Spam e-mails are dropping again. Yesterday I was under 90 and today, it’s under 60... much better than the 200 of a little while ago.
— Feeling a touch off health wise today. Not sure if it’s me being paranoid after hearing that Debbie (the trainer/supervisor) was off with the flu... or if it’s me fighting what she has.
— Some after work baseball on TV and some politics as well.

FRIDAY...
— Work... lunch is Chinese food with Chris, Phil and Bruno... after work office hockey pool draft... I think my team is pretty good. And Laura shows up as the surprise drop by guest of the day.
— Visit a little with Annick and Larry after the draft... get some pizza on the way home... watch a movie and some baseball while falling asleep in front of the TV.

SATURDAY...
— Quiet day... around the house, watching hockey and going for an evening walk. Sunset walks at the pond are pretty good for the wildlife action... ducks, muskrats and a beaver sighting.


Fifteen Bucks

I have read books on adventures in walking. Rory Stewart writes of walking across part of Afghanistan. He got shot at and had to deal with tribal leaders and the whole story was fascinating.

Then there are more famous stories of cross Canada journeys by the likes of Terry Fox and Rick Hansen. Those treks were mostly to raise awareness and money for cancer research, but I often found myself thinking of the things they passed by... the mundane things like a particular tree along the side of the road, or a pond where people have pulled over their cars to cast a line into the water in search of trout.

Many a squirrel and crow, in all likelihood, sat on a branch watching Terry Fox limp by.... wondering “what’s up with this guy?”

I’ve since thought of doing a walking adventure of my own. The one that has stuck in my imagination is the cross Newfoundland trek. I’ve heard of one other going from St. John’s to Port aux Basques along the old rail bed (which has now become a part of the Trans Canada Trail). I’ve thought time and time again of taking leave from work to make the journey for myself.

Not that cancer research would gain much from my trip. I’ve always thought of it as more of a personal venture that would make for a good story. Something more in line with Rory Stewart in Afghanistan... minus getting shot at of course... which would mean avoiding the trip in the fall, when hunters may mistake me for a moose or goose.

But I imagine the trip. Going 900 km across the island. Walking in on small towns. Stopping at relative’s homes for a bit of laundry and a nice night’s sleep. Tenting in the middle of nowhere with winds rustling the fabric that is my bedroom.

I’ve thought of foggy mornings with a chill in the air and a moose looking up to see me approach. I’ve thought of soaring osprey and cawing crows. And I’ve thought of the ideas that could pop in my head.

Not that I have any idea what ideas would come to me. But long walks can bring clarity to life. Give new perspective on things that become confusing in the urban environment.

So that’s my wish. To make the journey that so few can attest to and write about the adventure. A chapter a day... each day bringing a new encounter or perspective.

In preparation for such an adventure. I often go walking around my little suburban pond. And yesterday, I was paid to do it.

Hence I became a professional adventure walker. As of yet, the glamour has not been great. A half dozen people saw me go and I collected my pay along the route with suspicion of a gag racing through my mind.

The money came in the form of $15. A ten and a five laid out on the asphalt for anyone to see. At the time, only a slow moving older couple was sharing the pond with me. I’ve seen them before and they’ve never taken the fork in the road that would lead them to the money.

I look around, hoping to see a hidden camera that films to see what kind of person I’d be. A thief? A good Samaritan? Every moment is a test. On this occasion, with nobody nearby and a light breeze blowing, I decide to take the money. If not me, then it will be blown into the bushes to be used for nesting for a family of birds or mice.

So onward I go, keeping my guard up in preparation for a yelling neighbour accusing me of theft. I’m completely prepared to give up the money. If someone comes by asking me if I may have happened to see some cash on my journey. I’d ask them how much they’re missing and in what denominations was it in. And if the test is passed I’d gladly hand them over my loot.

But as I go it becomes plain that there is no searcher for lost fortunes. And I ease my conscience and pay less attention to the money details and more attention to my surroundings.

Just before sunset is an ideal time to make the walk at this time of year. Most people are indoors getting supper ready. And I find, if timed just right, the first lap can be done watching the colour in the western sky... and noticing the daytime animals preparing to tuck away for the night.

On lap two, more activity can be seen from the nighttime creatures and darkness envelops with only a light purply orange to be seen on the horizon... and only that can be seen when you reach the pond’s highest point.

One end of the pond is dominated by ducks. They paddle along the shore in the fading light and then venture out into the middle of the water once darkness falls completely.

You see them in small packs. At one point, I happened by when one pack of ducks ventured to far into the waters of another pack... and a duck showdown takes place right there in front of me. The two biggest birds flap and splash in the water for a few seconds. One loses nerve and retreats and the other calms and is soon joined by the rest of his flock. I don’t know if this is the claiming of new territory for a powerful flock... or the maintaining of traditional duck boundaries after an attempted invasion... but either way, peace soon returns with one final triumphant duck quack echoing out across the waters as I turn the corner.

The other end of the pond takes on a whole new wildlife feel. During the night, the ducks are at a minimum here. Maybe a lone one drifts in for a look. Perhaps a young duck just passing duckling status and entering duck adolescence has been dared to explore this great unknown after dark. But generally, you see no ducks at this end.

Instead, it becomes the territory of mammals. Muskrat can be seen paddling through the calm waters. A little head and section of back stand out as blackness against the water which still reflects the last bits of daylight. A trail V’s out behind... becoming less distinct as it branches out like the wake of a passing ship. Occasionally, the blackness of the muskrats disappears beneath the surface. I imagine them diving down for water insects and bits of water plants... ducking and weaving in and around the bottom vegetation and rocks.

A friend recently told me that the deepest part of the pond is fourteen feet near the centre. I wonder if muskrat dive this deep and wonder further about the muskrat treasures they may find at such depths.

Among the muskrat is a beaver. I saw him again on this walk. Hanging near the area where, just up on shore and over the sloop towards the pathway, trees have been downed in beaver fashion. First a couple, then a few weeks later a couple more. I now can count a good eight or nine gnawed stumps.

And on this walk I see an old couple. I’ve seen them many times before. It’s the Japanese couple I mentioned earlier. The ones who never venture down the path the money was located at. In fact, the couple never even make it around this little pond. They never get a chance to take in the different wildlife environments of the area.

He has a bad leg. I’m not sure if it’s arthritis or an artificial limb or some other ailment. Maybe he fell over the winter and broke a hip. But now he walks with a cane in his right hand and his left lodged upon his wife’s right shoulder. Together, with cane and wife, he can stumble with his bad left leg. They stop sometimes and sit on a bench. I can make a full lap of the pond in about the same time as it takes them to walk a tenth of it. And by the time I do a second lap, they’re returning from whence they came.

Last night I was left thinking of them. Of how the man would likely be stuck in a senior citizen’s home without his wife there by his side. Maybe he wouldn’t even be alive today without her. If he had fallen, maybe he’d have laid there too long and succumbed before help could arrive. Or maybe he’d just lose the will to go on with bed and a chair in front of the TV as his only source of daily activity.

I hope their walks grow longer and his leg becomes stronger. That soon you’ll see them walking side by side with her shoulder not being needed as a form of a second cane.

In the movies, love is shown in moments of drama. Fireworks blaze the sky as the silhouettes of two come close and embrace. Great proclamations gush forth as one bares all in front of another asking for another chance to make them happy. These moments bring forth tears from the audience and end in cheesy lines such as “you had me at hello” or “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

But in real life, love can be far less showy. Somewhere along a pond in Suburban Ottawa... between the territories of muskrat and ducks... I witnessed it in an old couple where a man tries to walk a little bit further and his wife shuffles alongside him, offering her shoulder for support.