Badlands

Time changes everything Time sculpts our thoughts, our bodies and ultimately our lives. And the lives of those close to us...if only by default.

Because of the complexity of human nature we really don't have much say in where we end up. We can only stay true, do our best and then hang on.

I've come to the conclusion, whether right or wrong, that it really is as fragile as a house of cards. There are no guarantees in life. It's never a done deal.

I read a great piece the other day. It went something like this.

"At the end of our life - as we lay in our death bed - we will not ask to see all of our accumulated material goods. We will only want to see those people we have shared our life with...the people that have been with us and cared for us. The people who have had a hand in shaping our memories and who we are. That is the only true gold. In the end absolutely nothing else matters".

When I need to gather my thoughts I sometimes visit an area called the Badlands. It's located near my home in Caledon Ontario. The pic I've included today is a dead tree that I discovered while exploring there. One could say it's time has passed but I would argue it's role has simply changed.

Peering Back

Recently I had sourced some building material on Craigslist for a landscape feature I have in mind. Upon arriving at the arranged address I found a large gated entrance flanked by stone columns and garden beds full of Periwinkle. As my truck wound up the long gravel driveway I couldn't help but notice wild and fantastic pieces of art peering back at me from every nook and cranny.

I finally came to a stop at a clearing near a log home. In the distance I could see an open air workshop with an individual illuminated only by a shower of welding sparks. He stopped what he was doing, approached and introduced himself as the person I had spoken with earlier.

I got the impression he was a bit of a recluse...an outsider type. I have to admit I liked him immediately. I soon learned that he and his wife lived in this hand crafted home on almost two acres of sculpted landscape. He was long retired and now simply created whatever his imagination and sometimes the scrap heap dictated. Even his house exterior was adorned with creations manipulated from off-cuts and discards.

There were rock carvings married to tree trunks, wind chimes cobbled from rusty car parts and bird feeders coaxed from knotted pieces of driftwood. And the whole property was dotted with natural stone staircases, patios and water features. It was a mirror reflection of his undefinable character.

Though I did get the impression he was not too keen on strangers so I was surprised that he invited me in for coffee and a tour of his home. Inside was just as interesting as the outside. Exposed beam ceilings, natural stone floors and solid slab doors were just some of features I tried to take in on my short visit.

Some two hours after arriving I was loaded up and making my way out through that same heavy black gate. And as it closed automatically behind me I pondered what are the odds of meeting someone that interesting again any time soon.

This pic shows three twenty foot totems that were poised over my parked truck.