Winter… - theHumm March 2022

By Susie Osler

The snow has closed 123 kilometres of highway between Sharbot Lake and Ottawa. To my knowledge this has not happened in the 21 years I’ve lived here. Looking out my window, the snow spirits swirl like dervishes — dancing and twisting wildness around the house. Old Man Winter rattles the thin glass panes that safeguard me with the slimmest of barriers. He interrupts cushion-covered coziness; calling for Fear to attend to him. I note the impulses that arise — to check my phone, pour a glass of wine, rustle up a bit of chocolate, conjure up some online ‘surfing’, text a friend. To tread the well-worn paths to my escape hatches.

Tenacity and Fortitude are good winter companions here, if you can locate them. But my fickle friends Distraction and Aversion continue to ply me with varying degrees of material and psychic protection. I am beginning to realize these old pals may not be the best company for me to be keeping — their sugar-coated treats dissolve quickly. The realization pokes a few holes in the worn-out, rusting armour I’ve noticed myself trapped within. Peering through the perforations, I wonder at the soft belly of my own permeability.

A day later I venture out into the still, sun-shined woods, immediately breathless with the labour of walking, even with snowshoes, in deep snow. I’m breathless too beholding the beautiful animacy of snow puffing up bundles of sparkles from under my snowshoes with each footfall. Sun sparkles shimmy any remaining vapours of anxiety away. Beauty offers herself to my posse of pals.

In winter I think often about the other beings with whom I share this land: the deer and the coyotes who may struggle harder in deep snow to find the nourishment they need. The trees, stoically rooted in the frozen ground, taking any punches that come: wind, erratic waves of shifting temperatures, the weight of snow and ice on branches. Mice and voles, who may in fact be happy to have the thick, soft snow insulation to tunnel around under — out of sight of predators. The hawks who are feeling the effects of this; some of whom are wasting away as a result. And then there are the bears wrapped in their thick fur coats, dreaming away the winter in a dugout somewhere on the land. All of these beings, in spite of their vulnerabilities, accepting their lot with a grace I have not cultivated. They belong here. Do I? They know, and embody, their place. They are made, quite literally, from it and are, in turn, a vital part of its matrix. What place am I made from, and woven into?

The swans on the Tay River near here float out the cold, their serpentine necks twisting back to bury black-billed heads under their wings. It’s minus 28°C! They have been living for weeks on frigid water with the poise of… well… swans. How do they do it? Why aren’t they, or any other winged creature for that matter, many hundreds of miles south where the living would presumably be much easier? Their equanimity in the face of what, to me, seems like a large dose of adversity is a feat fit for the Zen Olympics. I, on the other hand, feel anything but swan-like in these deep-freeze weeks — bumbling along in my dumpling-down parka and snow-pant silhouette. In fact, what dawns on me is the somewhat frightful realization that I am rather more like a cow than a swan — so thoroughly domesticated and reliant on systems, supplies and supports from anywhere but here. I’d like to believe otherwise. I’d also like to believe that my life here is in some way “sustainable”. But it truly is not. The illusion, even the aspiration, of living here sustainably through winter has been nothing short of a happy fantasy. I can either weep or laugh. Or maybe I can do both. I see Humour and Humility off in the distance and beckon for them to join my posse.

What does it mean to belong? To be…long..in place? Can we imagine ourselves ever becoming truly integral to place? Maybe we need a new word — inplace. To inplace ourselves. To become inplaced. Perhaps it would give us an intention to orient ourselves around. Indigenous Peoples around the world know a thing or two about this. The Anishinaabe thrived here, where I now live, for centuries — adapting to harsh and taxing conditions with abundant wisdom, humility, and culture interwoven with the ecologies of life. Living without desecrating the land, requiring a beach vacation, cottages or fossil fuels. There is profound wisdom in this to awaken to.

The jesters are provoking us — skewering more holes through that old, tired armour made for other times and places; dismantling, with steadfast persistence, our misguided collective Hubris and bidding Humility to seep up through the rubble.

Another month passes. It is now mid-February. This morning as I step outside, it’s the smell and touch of wetness that meets my skin. Water falls in small raindrop skins, landing on a driveway sealed in a coat of slick ice. My grippers clack and slide me to the barn. The untrodden areas of puffy white snow next to the paths are collapsing like a ruined snow soufflé. Small clouds of mist lift off the surface of the melting pond. Water shapeshifts everywhere around me. In the slate cloud heavens above the land; in the willow that is beginning to blush her sap spring yellow; in the sea of invisible wet air in which all the visibles are swimming. I meet glints and trickles of watery genius in the folds of the land, and let myself steep for a while in her fluid ease. Owl watches over. The siskins feed. The stream sounds slide by. The hold of winter is softening in my heart. Amen! And my sweet, burgeoning fold of friends welcomes Love to the party.

Michael Neelin —The Art of Appreciating Your Surroundings - theHumm March 2022

By Sally Hansen

Art… and Soul

When you can’t decide which you enjoy more — creating your art or doing your job — you’ve made some exceptionally wise decisions in your life. Residential designer and illustrator Michael Neelin of McDonalds Corners would be hard pressed to pick between the two. Neelin capitalizes on his exceptional drawing abilities in both pursuits, and both tie in with his passion for sharing the natural beauty and rich architectural heritage of the Ottawa Valley.

As a gift......

Winter… - theHumm March 2022