In the kitchen the dish sit empty, the water covered with a film of dust as it sits undisturbed. The dog beds, piled on each other to give more comfort to an old dog, sit empty by the fireplace. The red leash hangs by the door, waiting for a familiar collar that will never come. Silence fills the home, with no more clicking of nails on the wood floors when the front door opens. Grief fills our hearts as we say goodbye to our last beagle, as he passes over the rainbow bridge to join his sisters. In time the heaviness in our hearts will lessen, to be replaced by laughs and memories of our gentle Mr. B. Until then, grief stalks me with constant reminders, so I will travel four hours south to spend time with my stepdaughter Brianna, to let time and distance build a band aid on this wound.
Initially we had planned on doing some kayaking, so I strapped that infamous red kayak to my roof rack with some trepidation, as I have never travelled far with it before. I am now a pro at setting up the removable roof rack but chose back country roads down to Norwich, just south of London, to avoid having to drive fast. This is Mennonite country, and while other drivers may have been irritated by the many buggies and farm vehicles, I was happy to not be the one holding up traffic. About three hours into my trek I started to hear strange noises from my roof, like the pitter patter of small feet running on the metal. A vision of my cat curiously crawling into the kayak back home, and now riding down the highway in terror, had me pulling off next to a corn field. With a great deal of relief I found the culprit, not my cat but a whistle I had tied to the kayak bouncing on the roof. I noticed that the kayak had a strange tilt to it, but in my hurry I didn’t really investigate, because hey, it wasn’t a cat.
By the time I reached Norwich, the grey clouds hung low in the sky. Small drops of rain plopped on the ground, and my stepdaughter and I decided a hike would be safer in this weather. The Chesney wilderness area seemed perfect, with just a small loop trail through forest to shelter us from the rain. Off we went, dodging the occasional branch of a low hanging sugar maple, and staying relatively dry under the many tree limbs. This trail is known for its mature sugar maples and hemlocks, which we would have slowed to admire but the rain had also brought out the mosquitos. In the middle of a pine planation, within the rows of straight trees, someone has built a substantial long house. The inside was surprisingly dry, though large drops of rainwater fell through the leaning branches to form pools on the dirt floor. The mosquitos had a lack of manners, and followed us into the shelter, intent on our blood. Perhaps someone uses this as an outdoor survival training area, or considering the cost of housing, maybe this is an alternative? Still hounded by those mosquitos we moved on.
From here the trail moves down hill, into a cedar swamp. Surely those mosquitos are chuckling at their devious plan to herd us to this wet area. Besides the abundant insects, mushrooms and fungi sprouted from the dark soil in a rainbow of colours. Reds, bright yellows, oranges and every shade of white and brown. Brianna was the first to notice the tiny brown toads, some only the size of your thumbnail, sitting in the middle of the trail. Once we saw one, we began to see them everywhere, which reduced our speed to a snail’s pace as we gingerly tried to avoid stepping on the small amphibians. If any one had been watching us, they would have been confused by the two females tiptoeing through the forest, with the occasional hop and jump and even a squeal as a foot almost squished a small toad. At the same time our hands never stopped moving, smacking our arms and legs and waving through the air in a failed attempt to deter the mosquitoes. All together not a dance move that will ever become popular.
While this was to be a single loop, the main trail began to diverge several times, with no clear indications of which was the main track. Some of the trails taper off to nothing more than a dead end, one went past a memorial to a man loved by his family, another ended at the road. We knew that this trail had a boardwalk, so when the wooden planks appeared through the thick green foliage, we were convinced that we were on the right track….until we moved closer. The boards were green with moss, loose, broken or missing. Old nails, rusty with age, sprouted along the broken walk, inviting the unwary to a round of tetanus. Walking beside the boardwalk was nearly impossible, as the ground was a quagmire of mud and the vegetation was incredibly dense. Gingerly I lead the way, holding on to overhanging branches. We had hoped that this was short section, but that proved to be wrong. It was the thump, “oof” and sudden quivering of the few remaining boards that indicated that Brianna had taken a tumble. She was unharmed, though she would be sporting a lovely bruise on hip later in the day.
With a sigh of relief, we left the boardwalk, or what was left of it, and we emerged back on the main trail. By now we were done with the mosquitoes, rain and mud, and headed back the way we had come but bypassing that deathtrap of a boardwalk. We were almost back at the trail head when a flash of white on the forest floor caught my eye. A puffball!! Delicious in butter and garlic. As to my kayak, I finally stopped to see why it was sitting at such a weird angle and realized I had forgot to secure half the straps. The kayak was leaning dangerously off the roof of the car, and I imagine a corner taken too sharply would have had me looking in the corn fields for my kayak. I’m sure it is not everyday that the Mennonites find women wandering the fields in search of a red kayak. We returned to Norwich, with that kayak firmly secured to my car, and my heart a little bit lighter for spending time outside with Brianna.