BY KNOWING THE LAND IS RESISTANCE

Cootes Paradise is often described as the most valuable wild space in the Hamilton area, while nearby disturbed sites are widely dismissed as valueless. But what other forces have acted on Cootes and the surrounding area, and how does the land’s past relate to ideas of value?

Overnight, snow has covered the land. Since there are so many fun things to do in the winter that are harder to do other times, we set off towards the frozen marshes of Cootes Paradise.

“If you go down in the woods today...” – We found these words spray-painted inside a culvert at the bottom of a marsh, where the Coldwater Creek is collected underground to cross Main Street West towards Cootes Paradise. We were out in the evening to explore the marsh and the hills around it, to see what we could learn; the next line of that childhood rhyme is “...you're in for a big surprise.”

Heading west from Westdale along the rail trail, just before you get to University Plaza, a long wooden bridge crosses a beautiful marsh, which is part of the Dundas Valley. Straight downhill from the bridge is the culvert, and from there we followed the creek upstream, keeping to trails made by the many deer who live in the meadows.

The creek led us through the low marshy lands where the skunk cabbage grows in spring and the cattails stand dead and collect frost on cold mornings, then to slightly higher ground where we could forage horseradish from under the snow, and then to a meadow of tall dry grasses, where the deer trotted away from us to hide among the ancient, crumbling willows. It led us to a beaver's lodge and through the first of the hemlock groves we would explore that day.

Winter is the best time for exploring such areas – all off-trail adventures should be left for days where the frost and snow protect the soil from being compressed underfoot. The topsoil in these areas is very delicate and erosion is a problem, especially on the slopes around the marsh where tiny hemlocks can rest dormant for 200 years in the delicate, spongey soil of the hemlock groves, patiently awaiting their chance in the sun.

Soon, the creek led us to a special place where three creeks joined to form the one we'd been following. We sat on a fallen willow over the water and considered what we could see. Creeks carry all sorts of things down into marshes – they bring down nutrients and minerals that nourish the rich ecosystems there, and the marsh also filters out much of the toxins and sediment, reducing their presence in Cootes and in Lake Ontario. Each of the three streams was a different colour, and each contained the story of the land it crossed to get there. Two of the streams came to the meeting point through the Dundas Valley and agricultural land, but one, to follow it upstream, came through a suburb, crossed under Highway 403, and spilled down from the endless developments of the escarpment. Its water was a murky yellowish brown, which means it was much more charged with sediment than were the other two. We'll think more about that later, because, as we sat there, we heard an owl's voice drifting over the marsh.

Moving as quickly and as quietly as we could we followed the owls' call. They led us through the marsh to a small creek, and we followed it uphill along the valley it had created. And there, calling to each other from opposite hilltops over the creek, were two great horned owls. They flew higher as we neared, and we moved quietly behind them.

The owls led us up above the marsh to a very wonderful place. As we described last month, this area is mostly covered by mixed deciduous, which is largely beech and maple trees. On the secluded plateau to which the owls lead us, there were the largest beech trees we had ever seen. Beech trees can get to be 400 years old, meaning the old ones today survived the massive deforestation of the 1800s, when the British stripped this area to build ships, routinely shipping out ancient trees weighing 60 tons or more. We also found oak trees there that were larger than two people could put their arms around.

What can we learn from this? What is it the owls showed us, by guiding us from the place where the three waters meet (where we could see the silt build up and see apartment buildings looming over the treeline) into the old thick forest?

Knowing the land doesn't just mean knowing the land in the present moment – change is constant. We must understand the past, and the future of this land. We must remember the time when we could drink the water in the streams, when the forests covered this area, and when ten-foot-wide trees were common, holding the soil steady with their vast root systems. To the trees and the forest, this is not so long ago – 200 years is half the lifetime of an old gnarled beech, and forests change slowly, over many generations of trees. And we must look to the future – in October 2007, the Spectator reported on a study by the Royal Botanical Gardens that found that Cootes Paradise would be entirely filled with sediment within 90 years. There are fourteen creeks that run into Cootes, and each year they bring 14,000 tons of sediment downstream from the rapidly urbanizing areas of Dundas, West Mountain, Ancaster, and Waterdown. The creek we followed is one of those fourteen.

Change is constant, but when the changes are more rapid and violent than the plants and animals in those areas can adapt to, it can be catastrophic and damaging. Even this beautiful marsh was suffering: the willow trees that filter toxins are dying with no young ones replacing them; housing is encroaching from all sides, polluting the runoff that makes up the marsh water; and the frequent damming and culverting of the creek upstream kills fish and stifles biodiversity. Its ability to respond to change has been damaged. And with almost all the wetlands and forests gone in this area, it would be impossible for this vulnerable land to recover from a catastrophe.

The death of Cootes Paradise is not natural or inevitable. Even though Cootes itself is 'protected', even though the Dundas Valley is 'protected', they are still threatened because the lines we draw around them are illusions. We live in watersheds and bioregions, not properties. When land is developed, it is not simply killing that piece of land, it is damaging the entire watershed – toxic runoff doesn't respect property lines.

Conservation apparently means asking the powerful to protect certain pieces of land while allowing the rest to be devastated. This strategy would make tragic museums of what's left of the wild and is doomed to leave us with nothing. If we want to live in a healthy, thriving watershed, we must transition from simple conservation to defending all land as we would our own bodies. This means understanding that it's not just a question of the airport sprawl being unsustainable, or the Red Hill Expressway being irresponsible – it means realizing that ALL development in this area benefits a tiny class of land owners and politicians at the expense of every other living thing.

If we want to ally with the owls and with the streams, we need to resist the power of the political and developer class, and reject their perceived right to decide how land is used -- if it is to be 'used' at all.

Directions:

1. Take King St. W. into Westdale
2. Look for Marion Dr. (first street east of the westdale theatre)
3. Take Marion North to where it ends at Dromore cresc,
4. Just off the road there will be a wide trail descending into the woods.
5. From there, explore!

January 17th was the first meeting of the Winter Wanderings freeskool class, and a group of about thirty gathered to explore the forest of Cootes South Shore.

The forest is full of mysteries. But most of us, myself surely included, were not brought up to appreciate, or even notice those mysteries, and so going for a walk in the woods is like trying to read Shakespeare without knowing English. We can look and appreciate the beauty of the shapes, but we can't really understand what we're seeing.

The goal of the freeskool class was to find “wonders”, as in “I wonder what that fungus is doing on that tree trunk?” and “I wonder who left these tracks?” It can be fun to try and answer those questions, but the questions are more important than the answers when you're trying to learn to understand the forest. It's about what you can notice – your powers of observation.

For most of us, beginning to observe the forest isn’t easy. As city dwellers, we can go for days without seeing something that wasn't made by a human, so we aren't in the habit of understanding non-humans. Our senses are deadened by the urban environment; for many of us, the urban environment is so horrible and abrasive we withdraw from what we see and hear. Futhermore, we are taught to seek answers to questions posed to us by some authority, not to form the questions ourselves.

And so, to begin the class, we’d take a minute to cultivate some mental stillness. Then we did some simple exercices to open up our senses. We’d close our eyes and focus on the other senses to appreciate all we can hear, all we can feel, all we can smell, all we can taste. Then we’d open our eyes, try to soften our vision, and appreciate how much we can see.

It is not by chance that we are so alienated from nature. The destruction of the wild has long been a deliberate tactic used to subjugate people who would otherwise be free.

The profession of the powerful is maintaining power. Keeping us alienated from our natural communities strenthens their power.

We are colonized people. We participate in the process of colonization. It is a process that takes independent people, part of strong communities, and makes them dependent on colonial powers for their physical and emotional needs.

By taking the time to connect with the land, we begin to heal the wounds of colonization –both the wounds we feel within and the wounds we inflict on others.

If people who can find what they need in the land around them, they need not buy products from colonial powers, nor work in its mines and factories. Such people are a threat, rebels fighting colonization.

Knowing the land is resistance.

To that end, let's try and learn about the land in the place where we live – to be firmly rooted in this place, so that when we take a stand, we'll know what we're standing for.