Last weekend the forecast called for snow. Not the kind of snow Nova Scotians and Prince Edward Islanders were expecting, but snow, nonetheless. We’d been basking in temperatures more often seen in May than January, so it was no surprise to anyone that some cooler weather might arrive. The city itself was just on the edge of the snowfall warning areas, but knowing how one little wind can change everything, we weren’t exactly sure what we’d get. It turned out the forecast was accurate and we only ended up with a couple of inches at our place.
However, just a bit further to the west, a much heavier layer of snow fell, and it was to this we were treated when we headed out to go hiking on Tuesday. Our little Tuesday Trek group was missing a member on Tuesday, and we had a time constraint, so we chose to adventure in our foothills rather than making the trip to the mountains. It’s amazing what a difference a forty-minute drive can make.
Once we had chosen and then started on our trail we were immediately met with perfect fresh snow, and lots of it. At least a foot of soft white snow had fallen only two days before, and in many places, the trail had welcomed very few visitors since then. We found ourselves trekking along in knee high snow, sometimes following in the footsteps of a brave lone hiker, and sometimes, when we were lucky, walking along a narrow track made by a fat bike tire.
The walking was hard, but the beauty, the beauty was indescribable. Miles and miles of forest stretched before us, trees laden with snow. Adding to the beauty was the lack of wind and the absolute silence. The blanket of snow provided incredible insulation. More than once one of us would stop to remind each other to ‘Listen to that’, and when we did, we heard absolutely nothing. Not one sound.
Normally on our hikes, we stop often to take pictures of the beauty around us. This week was no exception, in fact we may have stopped more frequently just to give our legs a little rest. Even so we found ourselves frustrated with our photography more than is usual. This was not due to any lack of subject material, but rather with our inability to capture the vastness of the beauty, and the stillness of the forest.
We love hiking in winter. Yes, the cold can be challenging, but we’re lucky to have access to good warm clothing. One of the things our group really enjoys is our ability to see tracks in the snow, and to imagine the goings on of the creatures living there. Without snow, it’s impossible to know if a moose has recently been in the area, or a cougar, or even a little rabbit or mouse. But in the winter, especially on a day where the ground is covered with almost untouched snow, it’s easy to see who has come before us.
At one point as we walked along, we could see a fairly large area where the snow had been packed down. It didn’t take too much sleuthing to figure out that one of the fat bike riders had ‘wiped out’. There was the imprint of the tire, the shape of the body and even the impression of the helmet had mad as it hit the soft snow. We marvelled that anyone would even attempt to ride in such conditions.
Other than the body image of the fat biker left in the snow on the side of the path, the rest of the snow was untouched. I noticed none of us had a great desire to touch it either. This may have been in part due to its depth, but more than that, it seemed that if we were going to mark it, it should be with something deliberate, with something that might add to, rather than detract from, the beauty. It was a large untouched canvas. We were quiet as we simply looked at it.
As we walked along further, gently sketched in the snow on the side of the trail were three hearts. There were no initials to identify the artist or kind-hearted person who had drawn them, but three beautiful hearts were right there for our enjoyment. Those felt like something worthy of disturbing the perfection of the landscape.
As we hiked toward our stopping place for lunch we noticed five women of a certain age, an age similar to ours, snowshoeing toward us. Other than three bikers, these were the first people we’d seen since we started out. We could hear them laughing and could see they were setting up the scene for a photograph. We stopped about fifty metres away to watch. Their canvas was blank in front of them.
Four of the women lined up, side by side, feet on the trail and backs to the gentle slope of pristine snow behind them. When the photographer started filming, the women, one by one, starting with the one closest to the camera, fell backward into the snow. Then the four of them created beautiful snow angels to be left for later hikers to enjoy. The scene was so simple, so beautiful, and the best part of all was their laughter as they partook in such a child’s pleasure.
In that moment these women chose who they would be. They chose to seize the moment, to create joy, to support one another, to bring laughter to silence, to leave a positive imprint, to cherish their time.
We thanked them for our entertainment, they thanked us for waiting, and we all moved on, none of us the same for this small, small encounter.
We too in our lives have perfect canvases laid out before us. Some of us wait for a milestone, a new year, a birthday or a beginning of a job or new school year, to think about what we’d like to paint on our canvas. The truth is our canvas is always right in front of us, untouched. Every single moment we get to choose what we paint on it, what marks we make on it. Most of our hours are, of course, filled with the demands of others; others have no trouble ‘helping’ us paint. But only we can paint who we intend to be. We get to choose the marks we leave. We are completely in charge of the colours we use and the pattern of our brush strokes. And we always have a fresh canvas in front of us.
May you notice your canvas this week as you bustle about with the busyness of life.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I painting on my canvas today?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice your canvas and to paint your truest self.
However, just a bit further to the west, a much heavier layer of snow fell, and it was to this we were treated when we headed out to go hiking on Tuesday. Our little Tuesday Trek group was missing a member on Tuesday, and we had a time constraint, so we chose to adventure in our foothills rather than making the trip to the mountains. It’s amazing what a difference a forty-minute drive can make.
Once we had chosen and then started on our trail we were immediately met with perfect fresh snow, and lots of it. At least a foot of soft white snow had fallen only two days before, and in many places, the trail had welcomed very few visitors since then. We found ourselves trekking along in knee high snow, sometimes following in the footsteps of a brave lone hiker, and sometimes, when we were lucky, walking along a narrow track made by a fat bike tire.
The walking was hard, but the beauty, the beauty was indescribable. Miles and miles of forest stretched before us, trees laden with snow. Adding to the beauty was the lack of wind and the absolute silence. The blanket of snow provided incredible insulation. More than once one of us would stop to remind each other to ‘Listen to that’, and when we did, we heard absolutely nothing. Not one sound.
Normally on our hikes, we stop often to take pictures of the beauty around us. This week was no exception, in fact we may have stopped more frequently just to give our legs a little rest. Even so we found ourselves frustrated with our photography more than is usual. This was not due to any lack of subject material, but rather with our inability to capture the vastness of the beauty, and the stillness of the forest.
We love hiking in winter. Yes, the cold can be challenging, but we’re lucky to have access to good warm clothing. One of the things our group really enjoys is our ability to see tracks in the snow, and to imagine the goings on of the creatures living there. Without snow, it’s impossible to know if a moose has recently been in the area, or a cougar, or even a little rabbit or mouse. But in the winter, especially on a day where the ground is covered with almost untouched snow, it’s easy to see who has come before us.
At one point as we walked along, we could see a fairly large area where the snow had been packed down. It didn’t take too much sleuthing to figure out that one of the fat bike riders had ‘wiped out’. There was the imprint of the tire, the shape of the body and even the impression of the helmet had mad as it hit the soft snow. We marvelled that anyone would even attempt to ride in such conditions.
Other than the body image of the fat biker left in the snow on the side of the path, the rest of the snow was untouched. I noticed none of us had a great desire to touch it either. This may have been in part due to its depth, but more than that, it seemed that if we were going to mark it, it should be with something deliberate, with something that might add to, rather than detract from, the beauty. It was a large untouched canvas. We were quiet as we simply looked at it.
As we walked along further, gently sketched in the snow on the side of the trail were three hearts. There were no initials to identify the artist or kind-hearted person who had drawn them, but three beautiful hearts were right there for our enjoyment. Those felt like something worthy of disturbing the perfection of the landscape.
As we hiked toward our stopping place for lunch we noticed five women of a certain age, an age similar to ours, snowshoeing toward us. Other than three bikers, these were the first people we’d seen since we started out. We could hear them laughing and could see they were setting up the scene for a photograph. We stopped about fifty metres away to watch. Their canvas was blank in front of them.
Four of the women lined up, side by side, feet on the trail and backs to the gentle slope of pristine snow behind them. When the photographer started filming, the women, one by one, starting with the one closest to the camera, fell backward into the snow. Then the four of them created beautiful snow angels to be left for later hikers to enjoy. The scene was so simple, so beautiful, and the best part of all was their laughter as they partook in such a child’s pleasure.
In that moment these women chose who they would be. They chose to seize the moment, to create joy, to support one another, to bring laughter to silence, to leave a positive imprint, to cherish their time.
We thanked them for our entertainment, they thanked us for waiting, and we all moved on, none of us the same for this small, small encounter.
We too in our lives have perfect canvases laid out before us. Some of us wait for a milestone, a new year, a birthday or a beginning of a job or new school year, to think about what we’d like to paint on our canvas. The truth is our canvas is always right in front of us, untouched. Every single moment we get to choose what we paint on it, what marks we make on it. Most of our hours are, of course, filled with the demands of others; others have no trouble ‘helping’ us paint. But only we can paint who we intend to be. We get to choose the marks we leave. We are completely in charge of the colours we use and the pattern of our brush strokes. And we always have a fresh canvas in front of us.
May you notice your canvas this week as you bustle about with the busyness of life.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I painting on my canvas today?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice your canvas and to paint your truest self.
RSS Feed