CHRISTINE PRISLAND explores the special atmosphere of peace and healing in her local coastal rainforest in British Columbia, Canada, that heals visitors while it is also regenerating itself.
Imagine taking a walk in the forest right now. You feel the earth and leaves under your feet, the snap of twigs. You listen to the birdsong and look up through the breaks in the canopy to the sky above, noticing how the light filters through to a point just further along the path. You breathe in, deeply. You smell the distinct forest aromas: Moss, Sap, Earth and Wood. You take it all in.
-Yoshifumi Miyazaki
My favorite walk is in the coastal rainforest near Victoria, British Columbia. Normally I go there in the warmer months, but this year I visited in February. It is a chilly month of mud, sometimes snow, often rain, messy, and bathed in a filtered light that outlines the surroundings that are hidden during the more bountiful months of the year.
As I start my walk, I am struck immediately by the peace and stillness of entering a different world. A tangled bush immediately catches my attention, moss covering the branches like a blanket, with a few wizened fruits peeking through.
On the other side of the path, I look down on a small still pond. It looks primeval, like a place where the Jedi Master Yoda would feel at home.
Walking onward, I notice the abundance of moss and lichen. They radiate a deep green and white light, and grow in profusion on branches, tree trunks, rocks, and bare wood. Some resembling creatures in a primeval forest.
Crossing the wooden bridge, I see deep into the forest—the cliffs, rocks, and ferns that often are hidden in the summer months. It is like seeing the “bones” of the land. Immediately I feel the magic of the place seep into my bones, into my very being. And I feel transported to another level of awareness, of acute observation and connection.
This awareness is enhanced by the rushing sounds of the creek joyously tumbling down the hillside on its way to the sheltered ocean waters of the inlet.
I feel the magic of the place seep into
my bones, into my very being. And I feel
transported to another level of
awareness, of acute observation and
connection.
This special place, part of a larger provincial park, is and has been many things. A place where for centuries, the indigenous peoples lived in harmony with their surroundings. It provided food, building materials, clothing, fresh water, the bounty of the sea, and a place for spiritual practices.
In the early 1900s, a cement company established a limestone quarry, creating a factory, houses, a railway, and clay mill, with a dock for steamships. After a few short years, the limestone was exhausted, and the town abandoned. The evidence of building foundations, such as the old clay mill, are scattered about down the hillside and onto the shores of the inlet itself.
The foundations are also covered with moss as the forest is rapidly reclaiming its existence with the help of the nearby indigenous peoples, the W̱SÁNEĆ [Saanich], who are stewards of this magical and mystical land. They are planting native trees and removing invasive species. It is happening in a very organic way, slowly but surely helping nature to return to this place of healing.
Walking down the hill through the forest to the tranquil inlet, I arrive at an open grassy area with benches. It is an ideal place for contemplation, graced by the most unique tree I have ever seen on the coast, locally known as the Snoopy tree.
Further on, I meet an indigenous teacher from the local high school on a field trip with his students. We stop for a chat, as often happens with people who come here. He tells me that the name of this place is SṈIDȻEȽ [pronounced sngeet kwith], the place of the blue grouse. Before the cement company came, there were hundreds of blue grouse nesting in the forest across the inlet.
The industrial noises of blasting the limestone, the ships, and the factories killed the grouse. He said they have never come back in the hundred years since, because their collective memory thinks it is a bad place.
Walking on, I feel a little sad,
but also a sense of comfort
that this place is being
returned to nature with help.
It is becoming what it ought to be,
allowing nature to reclaim its space.
Walking on, I feel a little sad, but also a sense of comfort that this place is being returned to nature with help. It is becoming what it ought to be, allowing nature to reclaim its space.
As a part of the reclamation of the land, I marvel at the quirkiness of the birdhouses installed by a local group to attract the purple martins, who were more abundant in years past.
After a small beach, and just before the path ends, lies further industrial evidence left behind a century ago. Things too heavy and awkward to move, and too solid to decompose.
Moving onward, I visit a very special tree alongside the inlet—a huge western red cedar within a low cement wall decorated with modern graffiti. As I meditate under this majestic grandmother tree, I feel a sense of timeliness, of deep peace and healing.
Retaining this peace, I slowly make my way back to the car, renewed within, and with hope in my heart.
I hope you, too, will find a forest or a place in the wilderness where you can regularly go for solace, for peace, and to observe the changes that remind you of our connection to this planet and its rhythms.
Reference:
Curry, G., 2015. Tod Inlet—A Healing Place, Rocky Mountain Books.
Photographs by GARY LANGSTAFF and CHRISTINE PRISLAND
Christine Prisland
