Start where you are . . .

The wind is gusty and more snow than I imagined covers the north mountain landscape here on Bennett’s Bay Road. Winter behaves differently near the Bay of Fundy above the protected nooks of the valley below. Last summer’s brown grasses and weeds poke their heads through this most recent dusting of snow. On the evergreen trees, their bows swinging ponderously in the wind, white clumps cling. The thermometer reads plus two, though the calendar page asserts that it is January.

This place is truly a marvel in all seasons . . . having seen it awake and green last spring, then lazy and hot in summer’s height, all ablaze in autumn when that hillside to the east has bronze and yellow stands of hardwood in amongst all those firs, and robed in the snows of winter, I feel connected to more than just the rocks we have collected from the earth here.

This spot is part of where I am from.

For a hundred years, families with the same last names as I read painted on the mailboxes now have travelled over this mountain from their homes on the bay shore, past these mountaintop farm fields and down over to Canning, Port Williams and Wolfville. The paved two-lane road I am parked alongside was once little more than a buggy path. From communities like Baxter’s Harbour, Scots Bay and Hall’s Harbour where the ships and fishing boats conducted their commerce, the citizens took long wagon trips to ‘town’ for dry goods, medical care and secondary schooling.

Its history compels me and fills me with a sense of my part in the universe. My tiny, tiny contribution during the time I have to spend on this earth is so insignificant unless I can leave some positive work behind.

How tangible is my work supposed to be? Is it enough to live life with intention and compassion in one’s spirit? Unless mindfulness is brought to action . . . I consider the Dalai Lama’s teachings, as I put the car into gear and begin my turn around.