I meant to write about this a couple of weeks ago, yet as described in my last article, I was swamped with school work. With the online learning portion out of the way now, I wanted to share a story about my weekend away with friends in the deep woods of the southern Bruce Peninsula. This story is not about my wonderful weekend away, but rather, a look at how it is important for our species to return to simplicity in order to recharge our batteries.
With the daylight escaping us so early, long-time friend Ethan Steip and I drove up Highway 6 and eventually arrived in pure darkness on the outskirts of the giant cedar forest. Dressed in iconic bright orange as per hunting season protocol, Ethan's dad, Al, was waiting with an ATV and small cargo trailer. This was our welcome to southern Bruce Peninsula.
Just hours ago I was at a school placement, and 48 hours before that, I was mired in a swamp of schoolwork due dates in an attempt to create free time for this weekend away. All I wanted to do was disconnect and wade through a real swamp - my happy place where land and waters meet and I feel at peace with everything. To me, the swamp is akin to another's Netflix and snacks. It's that feel-good kick some get at the gym, or eating a nice hot meal on a gloomy November day. Something that fills your glass up, every time.
The ATV lights beamed and bobbed through the impossibly black forest as Ethan and I walked behind to ensure no gear fell out of the trailer. The ATV headlights and our headlamps led the way to the cabin, which was about twenty minutes on foot away from the parking spot.
Cedar forests have always captivated me with their ability to quickly insulate you from the outside world. One minute you are standing roadside near a farm field and moments later, you're engulfed by the evergreens. Bunched tightly and robust in numbers, the cedars grow close and low and do an excellent job at blocking out sunlight. While this may sound depressing on paper, I've always found cedar forests warming and protective with a touch of mystery. These hardy trees barely sway in the wind like the tall poplars and maples would, further making the cedar underworld an environment of stillness. And where there is stillness, there is peace.
The arrival to the cabin was a nostalgic approach, as a warm glow of subtle civilization started to ooze through the black trees. To me, this is primal simplicity at its best. For millions of years, our ancestors would embark on perilous, cold and dark hunting journeys only to return to the flicker of the village fire, a lantern swaying on the porch, or the modern-day light bulb saying “welcome home, you're safe.” Of course, this is not to compare our cozy twenty-minute hike through the forest to this scenario, but the sequence elicits the same feeling.
Speaking of hunting, this is a hunting camp proper. Funnily enough, I personally don't hunt, but have zero issues with those who do so legally and ethically. As for this camp, it is a classic four-walled cabin without running water or wi-fi. There is a traditional outhouse, and the cabin's sole source of heat is a stove fire inside which is also used for cooking and boiling water. Bunk beds, hunting gear, and photos showing three generations of Steips decorate the place. An AM radio quietly rambles in the background, and the numerous bunk beds await their early sleepers and early risers.
This might be referred to as “roughing it” by the standards of many these days, but it is remarkable how a place of baseline necessities can elicit a feeling of calm and happiness by blocking out all of the modern-world noise we get pummelled with. the cedar forest's protective barrier sheltered me from my school assignments, financial stresses, social media nonsense and negative news stories. See, I told you this type of forest has its effects on you.
Besides our other family friends Arty and Steve, neither Ethan, Al nor myself hunt. So, how did we keep ourselves entertained? We went for a bush walk and found deer bones. We cracked some beers and simply talked about anything and everything. We cooked food and tinkered around with some camp chores.
Chores, by the way, are always so much more fun at a camp than at home. We felled and cut up a tree for firewood. We listened to music and told more stories. There is no fire pit due to fire control concerns. Yet, even without the social mediation of a fire, we stared at the trees, talked, laughed, and carried on as our species has done throughout all of history.
I personally fear that modern society is losing its grip on what makes us human. First and foremost, we are social creatures who do it best when we gather. Ironically, we live in a world with social media yet we actually socialize less than ever before. The further down the generational ladder you venture, the more you will see that entertainment is created for us, not by us. Not long ago, society still had to get creative with how it had fun, created laughs, pushed our boundaries and shared stories. Now, “stories” are shared on Facebook and Instagram, often about someone else's story, and not their own.
One of my favourite moments of this weekend away was on the final night. As per usual with hunting camp, when it gets dark, people start sleeping. Ethan and I still had some gas in our tanks, so we decided to listen to the live call of a Toronto Maple Leafs game over AM radio. No TV, just two guys, two cozy chairs and a warm cabin with cold drinks. The game was truly exciting to listen to while we stared at a wall containing images of family, successful deer hunts, black bears and maps. Simple, yet so fulfilling and so profound.
It was hard to leave the camp and get back to reality, but before we did, I took a moment to stand down by the swamp and take in that feeling I had been looking for.
Since these photos were taken, this area has likely received over 50 cm of snow and has transformed completely. As Gordon Lightfoot would say, “the green dark forest was too silent to be real.”
