The air was crisp and flakes of snow fell like floating leaves on a calm fall day. The storm was over and the next one hadn’t started yet. It was peaceful this past Saturday.
Usually after Dec. 1, somebody in our family makes the trek to the bush for greenery and a tree. No time would be better it seemed to have a hayride to the bush. It turned into a family affair, with our girls and close family friends joining us for a ride down to the home place.
Truth be told, our personal trips to the bush have been very limited over the past 20 years. Time and obligations have a way of deterring down time, let alone time to harvest some trees for the fireplace. Passing papa’s house we stopped to pick him up. Usually he or our sister ends up doing the job, so this year he enjoyed the company.
A trip to the bush would be incomplete without checking out some of the reforested land the family has planted over the years. Tall pines and spruce reach to the sky. Mighty oak trees are now replacing some of those efforts as the two types of trees compete for sunlight. Dad still remembers when they were planted by his dad. Our own memories were shaken a little when we recognized the tiny spruce trees, spaded in when we were in our late teens, now tower above the fencerows which once sheltered their early start. It’s pretty humbling to realize time does not stand still, yet rewarding to know how quickly nature takes over.
The kids had a great time exploring the old Indian campsite we were raised to believe existed at one point. There is no solid history or undertaking on that point, but it only seems fair to keep the vision alive for following generations. While each family marched through the bush and hid amongst trees, there were lots of pictures taken. Those will surely find their way under the Christmas tree or in cards to other friends.
While trees were trimmed of their boughs for the mantle and window sills, the younger folk took off on another adventure. This time it was climbing trees and swinging off limbs. Even papa got in the game, howling like an old timber wolf, having some fun with the ladies and kids.
At one point, the kids struck off down a path familiar to us. We put the saw down quickly and jogged down the path to stop the kids from heading into the old spring. What we ended up finding was a bit disturbing.
The story on the spring goes back a long way. Trees along the way are still trimmed nicely to make it easy for walking. That little job took place when we were just a boy. There were two tricky spots that were always wet, and of course, the fear of getting stuck in the mud was drilled in to our head very early on. The area where a pipe exits the ground was always very wet and mucky. An old tub maybe 24 inches in diameter and about the same depth caught the water as it spilled out the end of that old pipe. Dad tells the story of him and his brother bathing there on hot summer days. Trees across the way have initials carved from when we were kids, and the remnants of a scout fort are still visible.
Highs in life or the saddest times we knew saw us visit that spring. A mouthful of spring water would usually fix anything up, and we recall bringing it from hand to mouth and enjoying a cool drink. The sounds of water gurgling and spilling over the sides kept us listening for what seemed like hours at a time. It was good place to think. Thirty some years later, it is noteworthy that people actually buy CDs with music like that, as a form of relaxation. Regrettably, the things that do not cost a cent are not valued as much as they should be.
To our dismay, we found this year that the old spring has gone dry, and the pot papa sat in decades ago is just a rusty old relic. Global warming, a plugged up tile, or whatever the cause, it is too bad the girls and their friends could not have shared the sound and the taste. The demise of the spring actually happened a year or two ago, and papa forgot to share the News – maybe on purpose. It is sad to not have the real thing, and despite the best of efforts to describe its luster years ago, today it is nothing more than a boring old steel pot to visitors.
Oddly enough, there maybe is a final point to the old spring story – another gift perhaps.
Sometimes people trick themselves into believing that things will last forever. Mankind’s present rate of consumption and waste is a prime example. The plundering and gluttony of which we all share equal guilt should stop, but it will take many empty pots without running water for reality to set in. There is something quite disturbing in knowing it is over.
That old spring tells a little, too, about making sure we enjoy family and friends while we can. Loved ones are not here forever either, so it only makes sense to appreciate and cherish the time we have together now.
There’s lots of good to go around and for the most part it doesn’t cost a cent.
