Canterbury Hills

We went to the woods because it's what we sometimes did on a Sunday afternoon when we didn't attend church.

The morning was spent lingering over bacon and eggs. The aroma of apple cinnamon breakfast pitas hung in the air, mocking me. Marty and I, had committed to avoiding carbohydrates, at least for now, but Maggie, Miles and Athena had toasted the sweet dough which lay on their plates. I think that is the worst part about the new nutritional plan. Items like the pitas, frozen pizzas and packets of pasta could be found in the freezer and on the cupboard shelves.

I still made sandwiches for the kids and poured them breakfast cereal while I waited for the carbs to run out and debated what my move would be when they did. After breakfast, the kids grabbed their pumpkins from the porch and began transforming them into works of art. They toiled in amiable companionship, these three, while Antonios watched from his perch at the counter waiting to carve his with Zoe who had since left for her shift at the local hamburger restaurant.

Two hours in, pumpkin seeds and pulp had made it's way off the table and onto several chairs and the floor. we had a skull, a bat and a toothy jack' o' lantern ready go. We also had three kids in need of some fresh air.

This is where the woods come in to play. Canterbury Hills, is a 72 acre conservation area in the Dundas Valley and our local hiking spot of choice.

We parked in a designated lot at the end of the path and began our walk. Less than five minutes in racing challenges began.

“Ok,” I said. “Athena gets a five second head start. First one to touch the sign wins.”

 We lined up across the leaf-strewn path, Maggie, Miles and I, five measured paces behind six-year-old Athena.

“When I start to count, Athena runs,” I instructed. “When I get to five the rest of us can go.” I was hoping the five paces and five seconds would give Athena enough time to get out of the way. I knew we would all be running flat out, trying to best each other on this beautiful day.

“One, Two, Three, Four, Five!”

I ran. I ran trying to best a 13-year-old who does track and an 11-year-old who plays select soccer while trying not to run over Athena, who we had all underestimated because she won. Miles ran past the sign he was supposed to touch and sprawled in the tall weeds beyond it while Maggie touched the sign and gingerly veered off to the right, finding a patch of sunlight in which to catch her breath.

Marty, who had left the trail, and our field of vision, reappeared. “Are you guys racing?” he asked.

“YES...And I won,” Athena answered.

“I came in second,” Miles and Maggie both chorused.

It takes a few minutes for me to explain how we all ranked then we lined up again for race number two which saw Marty as the starting gun, end-point and overall judge. When Marty said go, I was determined to win. I propelled myself forward flying past yellow, green, red, gold and orange trees. My feet kicking up leaves and gravel dust as the distance between me and my partner closed. I could hear the kids breathing.  I watched from the corners of my eyes hoping not to see either of them inch past in the last few paces of the race, they didn't.

For the next few hours we traveled the woods, fluidly changing formation. We left the path to explore the river, lay down on carpets of vibrant green moss, buried children in the leaves and threatened to come back for them in the spring and pointed out deer tracks while trying to avoid their poop.

Each of us took a turn helping Athena through the burs or up a hillside.

“Look at that, that's a great place to go tobaggoning,” Marty said pointing to a long and not so gentle slope to the right.

“We'll have to get another sled for the winter. I'll try and get one like the other,” I said.

He nodded and let go of my hand then sprinted ahead to catch up with Maggie where he slung an arm across her young shoulders. I watched her tilt her head toward him as they walked and smiled.

When we returned to the van energy spent, eyes were twinkling, cheeks were rosy, fall coats which had long since been removed, were being de-burred.

I looked back on the woods, leaves afire with the business of preparing for winter, and snapped a picture for my mental memory bank.

Life is not long but sometimes it is good.