A friend who lives in the UK posted this verse, this morning on Facebook. It is translated from a 2000 year old Portuguese poem. I feel this way about my forest; about all forests actually.
I risk the repeating your all having seen this before, because I believe we must do our best to live a life of nonmaleficience, not just in the woods.
The first time I went to look at the land was before I purchased it. It was a cold fall day, and was pissing rain. Not to be dissuaded, I went through the brush and found that about half way in there was a wall of thicket, of what the locals call prickly pear. The great barrier of it went on as far as I could see to the left and right of me; I wanted to get through to see what was on the other side. Tenaciously, I pulled my coat sleeves over my hands, and began to push my way in through the canes and their sharp little thorns.
They tied themselves to me, through my clothes and into my skin. I was the soft side of velcro and still I pushed my way though. What was about 200 foot wide band of the stuff felt more like a mile. My cousin Ernie says that this Great Wall has been there forever, that he would hunt rabbits there as a kid, and with great success. Truthfully, there are still grouse, partridge and rabbits by the plenty in these thickets; since then, I have cleared a small path through, so that I can walk back to the ridge without the pain of being caught in bramble.
When I finally arrived to the other side, I was thrilled that I persevered. It was just as I thought. The woods opened up and I found it just the way I expected to. The back 7 acres is all Carolinian forest, hardwood trees as high as the ridge itself. It opens up and is as beautiful as can be back there.
I can’t help but reflect on that adventure and how it strangely mirrors life. It is not just in nature that you have to push through a lot of difficulty, sometimes getting poked by the ugliness of life until you bleed. The fact is that a lot of life is similar to being caught in a giant rose bush, you just have to escape it to get to the great stuff. Generally, I think that those who go through the biggest prickly patches, are very often the people who have the most to offer; they are the hardest workers the ones who know how to live.
I bought the land, and then not long after I built Tiny House Ontario. I located it right before the thicket at the place where I stood wondering if I could get through a few months before. I did this not just because I want to preserve the sanctity of that wonderful deep woods, but because I wanted to face the obstacle in that land. There are great rewards in this location, mostly the constant movement of animals around me, who I hear much more often than I see. I am surrounded by life, by those who are amazingly well sustained by the difficult landscape.
On my most recent winter visit, I was out walking with Liisa. We were nearly at Tiny House Ontario, perhaps 50 feet away. She noticed this, not me and stopped to take this image. It captures the density of the prickly pear. You know, when the leaves come in and you stand right here in my little woman made clearing, you cannot see the Tiny House at all.
Mostly though, I chose this spot, because all year around the prickly pear stands, and reminds me that I can get through the rough patches. I know that I can survive even the deepest injury and I can live with the scars too. Survival is often tough but the great openings at the end of the rough patches, make the trip worth while.
I did not know that Bob Marley was a Tiny House dweller. Did you? This is his childhood home.
He actually had a tiny house of his own that was destroyed by a hurricane and is being rebuilt.
No wonder he believed we need not worry. I think that a Tiny House makes it much easier to live happily too. Getting off that consumer roller coaster rocks and it also reggaes too.
I have written before about the cloth porch. A few dollars worth of deeply discounted fabric, some left over boards and two boxes of staples as well as a screen door is what it is comprised of. While I was building it, then banging in the staples, I resigned myself to having to redo the cloth covering annually because I assumed that the thin, semitransparent, fabric roof would never stand the weight of the winter snow on it. We have had a couple of pretty good snow falls now, so I thought for sure, when I arrived to check in, it would be down. It is late January now, and to my surprise the cloth porch is still standing.
I know! I know! It is not the most beautiful addition that was ever put on a Tiny House but if you have ever been to Ontario in the spring (and summer) you will know that if the black flies don’t get you in the spring, then deer flies, horse flies, ticks and mosquitoes surely will get what is left of you before you freeze to death in our winters.
I am starting to believe that buying and installing new cloth is one job I may not have to do in the spring! Time will tell.
I noticed this while walking along the ridge at Tiny House Ontario, with Liisa. She takes better photos than I do and has a better camera so I am thankful again, that she was there.
It looks like a sci-fi creature, or something magical. Perhaps a winter hiding spot for teeny-tiny angels who need cellular reception?
This is just one a crystal clear example of the billions of wonderful things that can be seen just by taking the time to look. In the quiet undisturbed forest there are so many wonders. This year, I have come to understand the true meaning of not seeing the forest for the trees. It seems an overload to look beyond the beauty of these isolated bits.
Tiny House Ontario 