Spring run off

Suddenly it’s a personal space. The view from here more open than the sky itself; a bench at the crest of a dune in Sandbanks park: sweeping land forms; placid waters. And now a row of man-made structures, strung along the faraway horizon like a necklace of stranded shells. Up from the robust, day-parking lot where a few cars sat, we chose the dune loop trail. A melange of hill and valley; open dunes that swallow the sun until you make the climb up the cabled boardwalk to the next rise to re-visit the unending sky and hills and solitude.

The perfume of the pines, sweetness of the awakening soil; the trail turns a bend where peeking from beneath the underbrush, eyebrows of snow, wide-eyed and palewhiskered, shelter in the shadows, away from the warmth of the days. I feel an enveloping release, perhaps this spring more than many others. I am surfacing from winter cover.

And also, I am in the best of company: My son Luc, accompanied by his grade three companion, Samantha, are wanderlust explorers. The laughter of their song mixes with that of the cardinal and the chickadee. Now voices echoing through the pine forest, we play a game of lost in the wilderness.

An interpretive signpost tells that this is a dying forest, a reverse-notion to the life of the day. That the pine trees that surround us, planted a halfcentury ago to help stabilize the shifting sands, have been infected and the nutrition-barren ground lacks the capacity to nurture recovery. I imagine a full circle: trees, rooted since the time of waning glaciers held to the light skin of then-developing ground cover. A millennia passes, where the land supports natural habitat and holds the lifeline for ancient peoples: Then, the arrival from near and far of refugees of politics, war and upheaval.

Tree harvesting begins along the dunes shoreline. The grazing of cattle follows, until the fragile skin of protective ground cover is lanced and releases the sand contained beneath. The earth revenges: Allied with the wind, it swallows barns, outbuildings and structures of recreation, enveloping them with its army of escaping, marching sand. Post WWI, Prince Edward County land owners appeal to governments, and a tree planting response begins in an attempt to rein in the sands that are due to win over time. And now it is today.

Throughout the region, easily witnessed, is the removal of hedgerows and wind breaks that separate sections of farmland, manageable parcels established in the day when the lesson of the dunes was fresh as a lesson of land stewardship. Today, the wind carries the same message. Soil layers, carried by the air—the result of removing natural, planted barriers and ground cover—is readily evident along our roadways and in the mix of waning snow drifts. Soil erosion and the lesson of the dunes has been forgotten.

But my personal day rises. The surrounding banquet of natural heritage, new season and the laughter of children are gifts. And I am humbled in the presence of it all. Oops, I can hear them coming from the trail loop, Luc and Sam from beyond the dune to the west. I hear the conversation from afar, about thirst and hunger—and perhaps walnuts and cranberries and curds from Black River will do the trick. I’ll set down my notebook for now as I reach into the knapsack. First of season picnic at the dunes; my day is complete.