Elbows Up - For the joy of it.

During this time of supporting things Canadian and keeping our national elbows up – I’ve made a trail through my property. Establishing sovereignty as it were. Correction, one of my sons used an excavator to cut a trail around old-growth stumps, through skin-gouging brambles and over long-accumulated debris. He and the machine lifted away fallen branches, squished rotting logs and filled mysterious holes – remnants of childhood forts, to create a meandering trail through the tiny bit of Canada I cherish as my own.

That all sounds easy and quite fun – especially if you like mucking about in large noisy machines. Jump in an excavator and carve out a trail. Nothing to it. Right? No. There was quite a lot more to the endeavour.

First, the two of us bushwacked to pick a route that winds between the towering firs while disrupting the least amount of undergrowth. West coast forests being dense ecosystems disinclined to encourage tranquil meandering, this was not an easy task. Indeed, despite the warm weather, we proceeded fully garbed in long pants and sleeves and armed with a hand saw and long handled loppers to hack our way through the brush.

Our mission accomplished, and the route marked, the next step involved the machine – a fierce fifty-tonne excavator armed with blade and bucket with thumb. Grumbling, it dealt well with tangled vegetation and rough terrain. That, of course, had everything to do with the skill of its operator.

While ferns growing in the path were uprooted and transplanted, I preceded the machine, cutting back the salmon berry bushes and feeding them to my four gobbling goats. That set a president. The little darlings now demand fresh cut salmon berry branches with their breakfast. Indeed, they bleat for branches every time they see me – which is a frequent occurrence.

But back to the trail. Impediments to navigation removed, holes filled, ground somewhat leveled, tree roots disturbed as little as possible, the route was cut. Exposed dry forest loam created little dust clouds with every step. Then it rained – one precious glorious day of much needed precipitation – and the clingy dust transformed into a sticky slurry. This would not do. No one wants to schlep along a dusty or muddy forest trail. Protruding roots also posed a great number of tripping hazards.

Solution. I ordered twenty yards of rough bark mulch from the pole yard. That fresh-cut wood smell is one of my favourite scents and with a mountain of mulch to spread on the new forest trail, I had plenty of time to enjoy the astringent aroma. Three days. Three long hard days of pitchforking, wheelbarrowing, dumping, raking - load after load after load of blond bits of wood.

There’s an interesting cycle here don’t you think? Trees get cut somewhere, get milled into power poles, and the trimmings end up on my forest floor. And tangling in my hair, itching in my shoes, filling pockets and creeping into all manner of strange places.

And now a mulched trail winds through my forest but what to name it? Of course it deserves a name. So many ideas crop up. Mamabear’s Goat Trail, seems apt. Or how about Jane’s idea – Wine Way. Via Sylva speaks to my interest in walking historic routes. Perhaps all of them, plus a couple more signs to provide entertainment along the way. Welcome to the Shire, 175 Metres to the Watering Hole. I’m sure more ideas will germinate in time. Feel free to contribute yours.

One of my friends who came to explore the trail, reports hearing the songs of Swainson Thrushes, Juncos, Robins, Song Sparrows and Orange Crowned Warblers. Fliting from one branch to another they go about their bird business, while overhead a couple of eagles cry and soar. Chattering with annoyance, a squirrel darts up one of the trees. I have no doubt that our neighbourhood bear has ambled down the trail and there’s plenty of evidence that the deer are making good use of it as they browse. The other morning the sparse remains of a young heron were strewn about. A bit the eagle didn’t fancy? Too many feathers, not enough meat. Ants are now busy cleaning the delicate bones.

Alas, the trail ends – or begins depending on your direction of travel – at a ditch beside the road. It is not inviting to suggest that visitors to the trail must clamber into and out of a ditch overgrown with summer stinging nettle or flowing with winter rainwater. So, using the wood from a deck we ripped apart in January, we built a foot bridge. All the wood salvaged from that deck has now been recycled into this ditch-spanning bridge. Now, that is a wonderful thing. Within moments of its completion, The Bridge Over the Formidable Ditch was tested by curious neighbours and their dogs and found to be sturdy. It’s been tested by friend’s grandchildren and found to be a perfect entry and exit point to a magic trail through the forest.

Perhaps it needs a coat of stain. Yes, it does. But given its birthright – the stain too, I feel, should be from some forgotten old can taking up space in a garage. Indeed, I may have just such a can. I think its stain – hard to tell given the rusted state of the can. Staining may take place in the near future.

Now some may ask – Why did you go to all this work to build a trail through the woods? My answer: For the joy of it. It is my Elbows Up project.

I enjoy seeing my friend’s grandchildren come visiting along the forest trail, their faces absorbed with the wonder of the woods. So much more fun than trudging along the road. I enjoy my neighbours coming for a visit or me going to visit them via a trail through the peaceful forest. I enjoy – no I delight - in viewing the hidden sunlit meadows tucked within the trees and imagining what their future holds. The trail offers me a closer connection to the beautiful heart of my own small corner of Canada.