12-11-12 The Sanctuary

Silence.

That’s what I hear in those beautiful mornings. Nothing but silence. Not another creature of our community stirs. Not a tail feather rustles, no sweet melody of the birds, no skittering of claws on the tree bark. The ice has frozen the Lake in time and dusted it with a thin layer of white snow. I can’t believe that every snowflake that lies upon the glassy surface of Snow Lake is unique in composition. It’s a miracle that Mother Nature could achieve such amazing feats of wonder. It makes me think about what those pesky humans are missing, but it also makes me pity them. They are unable to cleanse their souls with the powerful essence of nature. They walk by without noticing the numerous intricate details. Every now and then they stop to execute a tree, pick a flower, or stare at the changing of the brilliant leaf colors, but never to really chat and stay for a while to learn about our home.

I am the spirit of the Sanctuary. I am in everything. I am in the tall towering hemlocks above all else. I am the lush, colorful moss and lichen that carpets the floor of what many call home. I am the voice of the babbling brooks, the roaring rivers, the whistling winds, and the murmuring of the Lake that laps cheerfully at the shores. I am the scent of the wildflowers in spring and the rich, dark soil that coats the feet of the creatures that live here. I am the perfume of the fresh air that purifies the lungs of those who inhabit Snow Lake. I am in everything.

The Sanctuary is only a small part of what the Homo sapiens call the grand wilderness. This community will forever be very near and dear to my heart. If you have spent any time in our humble community, then you will learn that our home is one of simplicity. We, the inhabitants of the Sanctuary, live a life of need rather than want. Everything that we do is intentional and full of purpose. Every day is passed with appreciation and wonder. The creatures of the Sanctuary know nothing of the flashing neon and metallic world of the monsters. They live simply. Many monsters, on the other hand, go through life and reach death with the realization that they did not live life to its full extent and failed to open their eyes. There are a special few, however, who really consider their emotional response to their physical location, and those that are able to open the shades in front of their eyes, such as the great Thoreau. This monster is one of our heroes.

I want to share a quick story with you about one of the resident loons that inhabit the Sanctuary. He is never caught not wearing his striped collar or his black and white coat. At times he seems rather sad and lonely. He has an eerie call that blends sadness with sheer beauty. He sometimes wails in distress across the Lake as if to make sure that he is not alone in this vast universe. Besides his mourning call, he makes three other calls. When he is grumpy and tired of hearing the biting comments of the offspring of other clans he emits a yodel. He is the only one of his entire clan that makes this specific call, and if he moves to a new home he will compose a new yodel.  If he is feeling worried about his children being badgered by others in the community, he hoots to make sure that his children are all right. He is respected in our community as the greatest of fishermen. He can dive to depths of two hundred and fifty feet, yet the young ones of the community tease and cruelly laugh at him when he is on the shore. I can’t deny myself that I haven’t chuckled a few times as he tried to balance himself with his chest whilst making awkward frog-like jumps across the sandy earth.

In the winter he leaves our community before the lakes freeze because he can no longer fish. He escapes to the south in search of warmer temperatures by flying hundreds of miles in only a few days! This year, as all of the creatures prepared for their journeys to the south, he didn’t leave at the same time as the others. We thought perhaps that he had lost his mind. “How can you survive the chilly winter?” He replied with, “It’s still warm, why should I move when I can eat and live a fulfilling life here still? Do you see the Lakes frozen yet?” His reply was met with various answers. Some said that he was being lazy. Others thought him senseless, telling him, “Just you wait! You’ll get stuck up here with the Lakes frozen and starve to death. What a fool you are!” Despite these comments he remained at his home. The loon kept watch out on Snow Lake calling mournfully about his friends who had already left for the winter months. The Lakes did not begin to stop their motion until the beginning of the eleventh month of our year. As was his custom he began preparations and by our first full freeze he was gone with the flap of a midnight black wing.

Some may say, “Why didn’t he leave with his friends and neighbors? Then he wouldn’t
have been lonely.” And I reply with, “He understood more than the others that there is a change descending upon the North.” Like a subtle knife to its victim’s throat, the heating of the planet where this Sanctuary exists is creeping upon us. Though it’s not a situation the creatures want to face, they, like the loon, are slowly adjusting to these foreign temperature waves.

I am the spirit. I want to see the Sanctuary thrive and live on. In the Sanctuary we have the small and innocent animals, but we also host the precious few hemlock trees. I remember when the ancestors used to live here. They loomed above all else: the regal white pines, the lordly hemlocks, and the sturdy white cedar trees. They were always there for the rest of the Sanctuary whether it was to lend a kindly branch, provide a jungle gym for the young ones, give shelter, or offer a haven from a predator. Then the monsters arrived and they began to fall by the dozens as the loggers executed them. With the loss of these pillars of knowledge, invaders arrived. The clan of balsam firs. They interrupted the balance that we had created and upon which we all thrived. They filled the gaps and began to smother us, imposing their ways upon the community, forcing all those opposed to their presence to flee. Those who were brave enough to stay had the overbearing presence of the firs constantly looming over them. Smothering them. But life has improved a little for us over the years. Some of the monsters have spent enough time with us to form a rare, yet precious bond. We are kindred spirits with these monsters. They have helped the Sanctuary heal from the battle scars of the logging saws. They have had an assembly with the secretly hated balsam fir clan and have declared that some of the population must fall away so that we, the underdogs, may thrive once more. For this I am grateful to the monsters. They have not accomplished only harm. Some have taken time out of their lives to come and visit our homes. They have seen the vast beauty that we have here and have come to the realization that it should be revived and protected.

But things continue to change despite their help. The neon lights, the dull booms, and the shaking of the earth far away from here tell us the monsters are hunting greedily for power. The grey skies are choking the trees in the blinking cities. All of this destruction is reaching us. It is affecting us. The stories like that of the loon are becoming increasingly prevalent. I want to see my Sanctuary thrive for many years to come. I don’t want this planet to lose the small things, like the noise of the red squirrels’ clattering toenails as he frolics with his friends among the branches. I don’t want to the ripple of the water on the Lake to cease. I don’t want to stop seeing the changing of the leaves or the freshly fallen snow upon the glistening ice. Places like the Sanctuary need to expand and grow.

I hope that one day the land can once again be covered in one continuous expanse of wild spirits living together. Let our small community thrive. Let the calls of our beloved loon continue on. Let us live on in harmony and peace so that we can be an escape, a remnant of wilderness, a sanctuary.