Why?

Once upon a time two people got married. One was from Dundas Ontario, the other from Hamilton. In their wisdom they relocated to Oro-Medonte and, in the fullness of time, made children, acquired a home, and aged 10 years. This sort of thing happens to a lot of people.

We can skip all the individual variations that make our couple different from other couples because that will become apparent as the story evolves and, besides, they are only part of the story. What is relevant is that both like the outdoors. One is more a hiker, the other more a canoeist, one a cat person, one a dog person. Hey, this happens too. In marriage tastes tend to blend. Thus, one day the canoeist began to consider the merits of hiking.

Dundas and Hamilton and Ancaster and Grimsby, that neck of the woods, is fairly unique in Ontario. I know this because I have lived in much of Ontario. The area is surrounded by green space and trails. It also houses two major steel mills. The juxtaposition of the Royal Botanical Gardens and Stelco/Dofasco is party explained by pointing out that Dundas was once the staging area for emigration to Southwestern Canada. There was much industry in the area. It was settled by a very diverse set of people and some of them went into City Planning on a grand scale. They had Vision.

What with one thing and another, they persevered. If one were to selectively dynamite bits of Hamilton one would end up with a pearl of a city. The aforementioned juxtaposition is also partly explained by the fact that a geological feature referred to in some circles as "The Giant's Rib" encircles the entire area. This is the Niagara Escarpment, also called the Bruce Peninsula, also a shore of the Michigan Basin and the thing about it is that it is not conducive to urban development. It erodes. Bits of it are sheer drops of over 75m. It leaks. In the Hamilton Area something like 100 waterfalls drop off it with great enthusiasm. So, naturally, the only logical thing to do with it is to turn it into parkland.

Actually, if one grows up in Dundas then one knows that it is also profitable to quarry out the limestone. Advanced swimming lessons without fail have a scenario involving some idiot who dove into a flooded quarry. In addition, one knows that the reason Hamilton supplanted Dundas as the economic center is because railways dislike anything over a 4% grade. Oh, and the 100 waterfalls are lovely for powering mills, upon which the fortunes of Ancaster were based until mills fell out of fashion.

It is impossible to grown up in Hamilton or Dundas and be un-aware of the escarpment. One could conceivably grow up ignorant of the hiking but neither my husband nor I suffered that fate. We were both aware of the shadowy thing called the Bruce Trail. We knew it snaked in and around us and we knew it went to Tobermory, wherever that was.

In 1970 the Bruce Trail was still young and newly knit. Passion and planning had gone into the knitting. Zeal and enthusiasm had gone into as well. Over time it is clear that the thing was well knit. It endures and, wonder of wonders, it matures. That is a pretty nifty legacy to look back on.

I had no part in it and neither did my husband. We heard about it though, from our parents, from Scout leaders, from Guides. Every now and then my mother would point out a blaze and say, aha, part of the Bruce Trail and I'd note this and then it would fade into the background of my consciousness. When we were courting I knew that my husband wanted to hike it. I, as it turns, out, am the canoeist.

However, 10 years and 4 children into our marriage I said, "Hey, husband, about the Bruce Trail Thing. How do you figure we ought to do that?" Then I looked up terms like end-to-end hike and internet sites like http://brucetrail.org/

Husband wandered out to Chapters and bought the map book.

This was just under a year ago in April 2010. The family was suffering the dregs of a sinus infection that had been chewing on us since December. Spring was moving along at a sharp clip, causing the Tulip Festival people in Ottawa to gnash their teeth since it was evident that by festival time there would be precious few tulips left. We advised my good friend Donna and my mother in law, Shirley, and decided to meet up at the Brock Monument and see what would happen next.

Now it is not the purpose of this discourse to subject you to a kilometer-by-kilometer description of the Bruce Trail. This has been done quite admirably in the map book. The thought here is to explore various aspects of the entire project. For instance, on that first walk in April 2010 we had a 9 year old and a 7 year old boy and girl/boy twins newly turned 3 and also a granny on the cusp of senior-hood. We had Donna, who has known me since we were 16 and then there was us, the star-crossed couple with the Bruce Trail calling. Oh, and we had a dog. It is simply not done to go walking and leave the dog at home. (I, of course, am the dog person.)

That, as it turns out, is a rather odd group in and of itself. I have lost count of the number of people who say you can't hike with small kids. I'll have more to say about that later. Demographics aside, we're also pretty quirky people. The purpose of this discourse it to celebrate both the hiking and the quirkiness. We'll see how that goes.

I've been scribbling down various thoughts over the course of our hikes. Some of those will stagger in out of the journal and onto these pages. I've been taking pictures. I've been making digital scrapbooks. Hiking is not an obsession, you understand, just a really cool jumping-off point for various forms of creativity.

Plus, we've grown the group over the course of the year, learned a few things, taken a few tours(OK, one tour)and so; as a kind of natural extension of a thriving theme, the blog. Oh, and with luck it'll be a multi-voiced blog. After all, more than one of us is hiking and we all have brains.

Brock's tulips are pink
Epic journeys begin here
Bold spirit endures.
- Lisa, April 2010