A Community Benefactor

For quite a while the devoted trail-hiking community had no idea who the mystery person was behind such acts as rescuing the trails from impediments like the occasional fallen tree trunk which we all stepped over until someone brought in equipment to saw the trunk into pieces and set them aside off the trail. And then, when trail maps began appearing at various sites throughout the ravine, posted on tree trunks in the most visible areas, there was no implied connection but again, a mystery.

Finally, someone began putting up little containers in which were deposited bags for the obvious purpose of picking up canine excrement. There had always been a problem of dog poop lying on the trails, evidence that some dogs simply didn't get it, nor did their people, even while most dogs practised pretty good etiquette going off trail into the woods to deposit their offerings.

Ripe Thimbleberries

We reasoned of course that it represented biological waste and would become part of the greater forest mass of accumulated biomass, enriching the forest. No one picks up after all the raccoons, squirrels and birds living in the forest, after all. And then we began seeing bags someone used to scoop up poop being thrown carelessly here and there off the trails into the forest, sometimes landing on tree branches, sometimes on the forest floor.

Pilotweed

Organic matter deteriorates, plastic does not. One could only marvel at the gross stupidity of anyone who would stoop to scoop then toss the product encased in plastic into the very area that was being cleared of such detritus. So it was with a huge sense of gratitude that we began to see containers popping up for discarded and full bags. Someone had gone to that amount of trouble. But who was that someone? No one seemed to know. That someone also gathered all that excrement weekly bagging and placing it on the closest street for pick-up come garbage collection day, without fail.

Someone who was so conscientious and altruistic graduated to placing small garbage pails fitted out with garbage bags to replace the smaller ones previously used. And those pails filled up surprisingly quickly. And they were assiduously collected every week for trash removal. We knew it wasn't the municipality and the parks department, though this is no park but a natural forest. Eventually it was discovered who the person was.

This morning it rained heavily at around 5:00 a.m. but by the time we rose at 8:00 it was over. Our earlier morning rising yesterday at 6:00 kind of knocked us out. When we went downstairs and looked out at the garden out front and the backyard it was to a thoroughly drenched, green world. But the rain had stopped and nothing therefore stopped us from launching ourselves on an early morning trail hike. Not even the forecast that informed us of a chance of thunderstorms, given that the same forecast said the afternoon high would be a clammy 30C once again.

Lots to see out there, the thimbleberry bushes thriving, berries ripening at a fast rate. The pilotweed now dominating the wildflower offerings, though Himalayan orchids are also making a comeback albeit in more modest numbers.

As we approached one of the entry points to the ravine on a street quite distant from our own, Jackie and Jillie were alerted and expectant long before we became aware, and there striding toward our oncoming direction was the very man who had been identified as the Robin Hood of the forest. He is always alone. He has no pet companion of his own. He spends his own money on bags and other accoutrements he places out for public use. And he's a very modest and friendly person.

He enjoys briefly stopping and exchanging pleasantries. A robust looking man presumably in his mid-fifties, he's out every day on the trails, briskly making his way along. He knows nothing about the botany of what he sees daily, cannot identify any birds by type but he appreciates the fresh, clean air, the general green ambiance and the brief acknowledgement of others that he is a man who dedicates himself to the weal of the community in which he lives. Admirable beyond words. Though it would pain him to be made a fuss of.

The creek at the bottom of the ravine was moving swiftly, swollen with rainwater and murky. On its banks, wildflowers thrive. They're difficult to approach with the presence underfoot of large rock pieces put in place a few years back as an aid in keeping the Leda clay soil in place. Jewelweed has grown in great abundance between the rocks and the soil abutting and above the creek. From the distance we must maintain rather than risk injury we can just barely make out the blooming orange jewelweed, exposed to the sun by the near absence of trees.

Back home again. And a bit of relief. When we were three-quarters of the way through our hour-and-a-half circuit, there was a prolonged, deep, thrumming of thunder. A delicious sound to us at any time, but not particularly welcome when we're deep in the woods. All the while we had been out excess rainwater had been dripping from the forest canopy. The foliage everywhere was beautifully glazed with rain and looked stunningly vibrant. Nice to get home, though, after all, without a drenching, even if it happens on a hugely humid, and extremely warm day.