By Sylvie O’Rourke
To me, nature is synonymous with ecotherapy. It soothes the soul, encourages clarity of mind, and offers harmonious settings for exercise and social interactions. Uplifting, both in company and in solitude, nature providesa sense of balance that keeps me grounded and ready to take on the world.
Since my father’s passing, I have sought it even more frequently. Death is an irreversible finality. Its shock brings an influx of memories, making sleep elusive. The whirlwind of funeral details and trying to sum up the life of a loved one in a few photographs or a ten-minute eulogy allows no downtime for truly grieving. That happens later. Heading out into nature on my own and practicing my newest pastime of birding has been a balm for me. Unhurried walks, hyper-tuned to sounds and movement, have a meditative quality that always escaped me in yoga practices. This pursuit keeps me fully in the moment, providing necessary distractions. The saying, “Cardinals appear when angels are near,” may be just an old folk yarn or perhaps wishful thinking, but I swear that lately, they have appeared daily outside my kitchen window or in my travels around town. While a more likely explanation might be that I have become more attuned to them since the start of my avian studies, I won’t rule out the possibility, especially if it provides a degree of comfort.
As much as I enjoy my independent treks, I also crave company because laughter is as valuable as sunshine. Today, I am at the Gray’s Creek Conservation Area to find both as I snowshoe with a dozen friends from the outdoor club. Captivated by the stories of those around me, I remove my reclusive birder hat and don my social toque. A jumble of concurrent dialogues fills the air as we file down the trail, two by two. In my vicinity, the topics include grandchildren, photography, travel, politics, and Mama Sue’s menu, where we have reservations for lunch afterward. Amidst the buzz of conversations and the crunch of our snowshoes, we do not notice much wildlife. Only the more gregarious birds, such as the bold black-capped chickadees, dare to emerge. Much to our delight, they flutter around us gratefully as we refill their empty feeders with peanuts and black oil sunflower seeds. Some of them even pursue us for a while. They know we come bearing treats. The more introverted nuthatches also linger nearby, eager to get in on the action.
Today’s event is bittersweet as winter nears its final days. Spring will soon erase the last vestiges of the snow we now tread upon. As much as I love Canada’s four seasons and the variety of activities each provides, I am always slightly dismayed to see the current season end. Life, as in seasons, is short, and I feel I am forever running out of time. Too many interests equal too few hours in a day or days in a month. I suppose that is not a bad thing, as problems go. It will just mean transitioning from my snowshoes to my hiking boots. The forest will still be there waiting for me.
In my musings, I fall behind a little. I am soon mesmerized by woodland riches such as intricate patterns in tree bark, different types and hues of moss, and delicate critter footprints in the snow. I can’t help it; I see art everywhere! A movement in my peripheral vision diverts my already wavering attention. The culprits, a trio of chipmunks in hot pursuit of each other, have left the confinement of their underground burrows for the freedom of the forest. They seem to know that a milder climate is imminent. Removed from the chatter of my companions, I perceive the distinctive “purdy-purdy-purdy” refrain of a Northern Cardinal. I pause to scan the treetops for its vibrant plumage. Perhaps it is the female I hear, not quite as discernible with its muted colors. Though I fail to see either, I know it is here with me, and that is enough. I smile and pick up the pace to rejoin the others.
SDG & A Cornwall Seeker, May 2025, page 10