Quiet Paths

Christine March 6th, 2007

This is a particularly lovely view this morning of Lake McDonald, the largest lake in Glacier Park. We have spent many an hour near the Lake or on it. One day in late May a few years ago, Matthew and I donned our rain gear and took the kayak out near the far, roadless shore by Fish Creek. It was raining lightly but steadily and it was still very chilly. We paddled about 90 minutes up the Lake exploring coves and getting out to stretch our legs once, where I admired the tender green leaves beginning to unfold in every nook of the forest; all the bushes and pine trees were wet with rain. The air smelled nothing less than glorious. It was so quiet except for the deep slap of water against the boat and rocks. A few bird calls were heard along the shoreline but I sensed that most creatures were folded up or nestled somewhere peering sleepily out into the dim light, contemplating the rainfall. The mists were rising and drifting up the Lake towards the mountains.

Later that July fire came to the Belton Hills in the forest near where we had kayaked and the trees were burnt nearly the entire length on that side of the Lake. The paddle up Lake McDonald will never be quite the same, not in our lifetime. That following Autumn we stopped along the Going-to-the-Sun Road briefly to view the damage from the other side weeks after the fire had been extinguished. I was kicking at a piece of burnt wood washed up on the pebble beach pondering how quickly one of our favorite spots had been so severely altered. I was shocked. I was sad.

Now, nearly three years later the forest is green again with new foliage. The scars from the fire are fading. New life abounds. It is amazing to hike at the Loop Trail, to stand high up above the valley and peer down onto the burned terrain –how tall the little trees are already! Green and defiant they are, a dozen varieties; the seedlings are growing everywhere among the blackened logs. Instead of feeling dismay, we are intrigued by the little mushrooms flourishing on charred wood, fascinated by the tiny plants and flowers covering every viable surface possible. It is exciting to watch the woods regenerate after such a devastating blaze. No, it is not the same forest it was, but the tender, glad beginnings of a new one. It is almost… inspirational. (Photo by Matthew taken late last Fall, 2006)

Every spirit builds itself a house, and beyond its house a world and beyond its world a heaven. Know then that world exists for you.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

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