Return to the Ridge

Being back at my grandparents house was an experience. It was as if I had been there yesterday. Their property sits on the Canadian Shield, which consists of cascading mossy rocks and sparse forests of birch, poplar, and conifers overlooking flatter lands of more traditional woods.

Because of a fire that ocurred about 100 years ago, the area is full of pioneering tree species, slowly being replaced by more long-lived variants. So it's not technically "old growth" but I would argue it counts as "undisturbed". Wildfires are a part of Ontario's climate, pioneering tree species are the natural recovery response, and the soils that had been worked over by old-growth conifers remained primed for their successors. The natural link to old growth remains intact.

It's almost impossible to capture the depth of the rolling ridge using a phone camera.

I could still remember the grooves in the rock that I used to walk. I found the old ceremonial site where my aunt practiced Wiccan rituals. Even after all these years it was fairly undisturbed. I think one of the stones in one of the piles was nudged over, but that was about the extent of it.

I found my old clubhouse

As kids, me and my brother wanted a tree house. None of the trees in the area were able to support one, so my grandpa created a little space in the back of the garage. I opened th door and found this old toy truck. I was too nervous to go in, partly because I didn't trust something that was built to support my weight as a child, and also because I thought it probable that something else had taken up residence in my absence.

This was my first time visiting in the Fall. As children, we would often come for Christmas and in the summer during blueberry season.

The Autumnal colours were somewhat muted, with more yellow than red appearing among the green. On the trip up, we went through really vibrant pockets, making me think that the climate getting colder as we travelled further North was causing an earlier change in season. But then it started getting greener again.

In the four days we were up, it did feel like Fall swept in properly

The house was pretty much the same as I remembered too. It was so close to how I remembered it that I could identify the small things that had changed.

I easily found my way to my favourite childhood books.

These had pictures of different North American species. Each colour was a different category, e.g. mammals, trees, birds. Part of the book was a list of names with pictures next to them and a code which you could use to find their specifics in the other part of the book. My favourite at the time was mammals, I guess because they were relateable. Nowadays I'm more of a tree guy. I would also watch out the living room window at the bird feeders and try to identify the species using these books.

There were also these,

This is a bad photo. For some reason, my phone camera wouldn't let me flip the image. I was trying for a horizontal shot but had to settle for this one with my shadow in the way.

Anyway, this is not an exhaustive list, but these were some of my favourite childhood books. The one at the top, No Fighting, No Biting is about an older cousin babysitting her two younger. When they won't stop quibbling, she opts to read them a story illustrating the trouble they might get into for their behaviour.

It teaches a lesson that at the time I found quite bleak, which I reflect on even as an adult. The story that the older cousin tells is about two young alligators that find themselves unable to reach their fishing spot due to a large log being in the way. An older, hungry alligator offers to carry them over it in his mouth. After some deliberation, the two children get wise to the predator's intentions and escape unharmed.

This alone was not too disturbing. I'd heard stories with villains before, and I knew about Stranger Danger. What really bothered me was later in the story, when the siblings encounter another obstacle and the same alligator shows up. The children take the initiative in saying they won't get in his mouth, but he isn't interested in that this time, and simply moves the obstacle from their way.

The children report to their mother this change in behaviour, who is quite unsurprised. Apparently the behaviour of this stranger, which oscillated between homicidal to helpful citizen, was not based on his virtue or lack thereof, but on his level of need. The alligator wasn't good or bad, he was hungry or not hungry.

If I were to be an obnoxious critic as an adult, I think the story didn't really require the book-within-a-book framing. I only remembered the story about the alligators, not the one about the human cousins.

On the bottom left of that book pile, you have Moomintroll. This one is a comic version, but they're also a series of novels that I read up North as well. They're about a group of not-humans and their various antics and interactions. My favourite character was Snuffkin, who was a nomadic fellow that believed all the Earth was his home. He played a harmonica, which is part of the reason why I tried to learn it in middle school. He's a quiet, reserved type that is still anti-establishment and has trouble following rules.

This series is actually pretty mainstream, and shows up in various incarnations over time. There is at least one television series based on it. I think Snuffkin is a fan favourite too. I wasn't special to hold that opinion.

It's hard to see, but on the top there is a fuzzy book called the Little Fur Family. It's basically about a boy roaming around, exploring the world around him and being fascinated by it. I think the tactile element of the book itself being furry really enamoured me as a child.

Finally, on the right is Eloise. It's about a girl that lives in a hotel, who's taken care of by a nanny, who doesn't go to school or have any peers. Instead, she's left to her own devices and crafts a routine using her vivid imagination. This mostly involves being a brat.

I don't know why I liked this book so much as a kid. Obviously it wasn't relateable at all. I think I was just fascinated by looking into the life of someone who was so different from me. I'd ask where her parents were, and  why staff would scold her one moment then be fond of her the next. Returning to it as an adult, it's obvious that Eloise is pretty emotionally neglected despite simultaneously being pampered.

I was reading this book later in the evening, thinking about the gulf of time that had passed, pondering a life unlived. This brought me to tears. Lee-Anne found me like this, and I offered to read her the book. She accepted, and through gentle sobs I read Eloise to her. 

She was polite enough not to remark on her distaste for the character, mistaking my emotional state to imply I had some resonance with the spoiled little rich girl. The most absurd book to cry while reading.