of cabbages and carp (and violets)

photo by: truszphoto

For almost a month now I have been beginning my workdays -- remember, I work the 6 p.m. to 2 a.m. shift -- with an early afternoon stroll through the beautiful, restored Victorian rowhouses of Cabbagetown. They are only a 15-minute walk away, and once I pass Parliament Street I am taken into another world, away from the city, into neighbourhoods of genteel quiet and tiny gardens and ornate stained glass.

It is doing me more than a world of good. It is a connection to the land, to the seasons. Every day the gardens are a little different, the work and quiet bustle around the homes more obvious.

I change my path on whimsy, one day this street -- into a tiny alleyway with a street sign and more homes -- another day, another direction. My main direction is toward the Riverdale Farm, but I can get there any number of ways.

We are having a beautiful spring. It is mid-May and the weather has not become hot yet, so the flowers are enjoying their time. The early crocuses and daffodils and tulips are giving way to small rhodendrons. Tiny purple violets cover front lawns or gardens, fragrant lavender or white lilacs blossom near flowering fruit trees, and the winds blow gentle and fresh and very sweet.

At Riverdale Farm the hills are planted with red and yellow tulips and I stroll by the barns and barnyards with the chickens and sheep. The Farm is built on the edge of the Don Valley, so its paths go down into it, through shady, still woods and by a small pond system. You can hear the cars on the Don Valley Expressway here, but the trees muffle the sound, and the birds chirp louder.

Every day, on my walk, I check the ponds and the turtles sunning themselves. For a pond that never looked particularly healthy, I am struck by how much life is there. I have come across a raccoon in midday, a muskrat, schools of hundreds of baby carp.

This walk is my salvation. It connects me to the earth and the seasons and the changes in nature.