We two find solace in nature when our emotions are depressed. At a time of heartbreak, unfamiliar to us, and placing us in a shared state of utter miserable helplessness, close contact with nature does help to restore us to a move level emotional state. The effect is undeniable. It was like that for my brother for whom nature meant life itself. Life and nature's end concluded for him yesterday.

We decided to make our way past our usual circuit within Bilberry Creek ravine and return to the 'other side' of the ravine where decades ago we were accustomed to ramble about, when we were younger, more vigorous and energetic and where we navigated barely-visible trails hemmed in by thickets of new understory bushes, closing what may once have been a little-used trail. But to get there the wider, much-used woodland trails of the community come first.

Beyond the trees one can see the playing fields attached to a primary school. A place we used to backpack our granddaughter to each morning while she was in our care as an infant and where she used to take her first uncertain steps in the natural world. She learned to make her own way about as she grew older and our daily woodland walks continued. Later, as a teen, when she was no longer in our daily care and she would visit, she chose to eschew the walks in the woods.

We had gone the old familiar routes in reverse for a change and were ascending a long hill toward the plateau above when approaching us was a man we have latterly become familiar with. We'd seen him the first time several months ago when we'd been caught out in a violent thunderstorm in the middle of one of the trails, seeking shelter under a large old pine surrounded closely by beeches, when he nonchalantly made his way by us, pausing for a brief greeting, his large golden lab hurrying ahead, and both quite drenched.

Coming across him again on a later occasion he explained with a laugh that being already drenched he saw no need to hurry at our first meeting. And he told us that he had installed several footbridges at points we no longer traversed in our daily walks. Those points were, in fact, at the very furthest reaches of where we used to tramp about all those many years ago. He had carried the lumber in for long and awkward stretches and constructed the bridges because he wanted to be able to readily access that portion of the ravine that is on our side.

So yesterday, there he was, and about to embark on a hike that would take him over the two footbridges and he offered to show us the way. We agreed, following him, and found that his route was the very same one we had ourselves regularly used decades ago, the difference being that the bridges he had installed made crossing the creek all that much easier. We recognized every step of the winding trail, where we ended up at a place that a large cement pipe fed the community storm sewers into the creek, and where beavers had, over the years, installed themselves, building a dam. From time to time the beavers would be relocated by the local wildlife authorities. Now, it appeared a pair of beavers had returned and the water level in the creek at that juncture was quite high, deep enough to partially inundate the little footbridge.

Its depth represented an opportunity for his dog, Diesel, to indulge himself in a good, vigorous swim. While we stood together and talked, the yellow Lab entertained itself by launching into the creek, paddling about, emerging to shake vigorously, stream over the bridge, run about and repeat the process until he was aware that it was time to continue their hike in a direction opposite our own.


The footbridge was sunk slightly as we traversed it but we used it anyway, and then took to a rather steep ascent, narrow and uneven, to obtain the height close to where we had taken our diversionary side-trek to mount to the opposite side of the ravine on the day's outing.