In pursuit of happiness

I was listening to the radio the other day, and a young woman was being interviewed. She was going to be in a position of influence to other young people, and her passion to help was sincere and laudable. I was right along with her until she summed up her philosophy with "well everyone deserves to be happy; after all that is what life is about". I waited for the moderator to challenge her, but it didn't happen. Maybe they were all sitting in the studio nodding their heads in agreement. How can so many people believe this is somehow their divine right when life all around us shows us that this is a state most difficult to achieve. 

"Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness", an "inalienable right" says the Declaration of Independence. The idea that we have a right to be happy is a thought not limited to the United States. The problem is that the context of those words has been lost. Liberty is now interpreted as freedom with license to do whatever you like; freedom without responsibility. The pursuit of happiness seems to have become the pursuit of pleasing oneself, often to the exclusion of others. Those 'inalienable rights' were penned with the understanding that "in God we trust", meaning that there was a context of right and wrong, and the greater good was implicit. 

When something is taken out of its context, the original meaning becomes lost. I looked up the word 'pursuit' and found that it has two meanings; the act of following or chasing after something; or, an activity of a specified kind. I think both apply to many people; they are chasing after someone or something that they believe will make them happy, and that pursuit, that activity becomes their life. The trouble is that those things can remain outside of our grasp, or their presence can be fleeting, or having it or them may not actually bring the desired result. So it would seem that this pursuit might instead lead to unhappiness, pain or bitterness. If you expect to be happy or feel that you deserve to be, how will you cope with life's inevitable burdens of of disappointment, frustration, illness and struggle. 

Aristotle thought that happiness was the central goal of a life, calling it "an activity of the soul in accordance with virtue" and evaluated at the end of a life. So happiness was the sum total of a life well or virtuously lived, which meant that the development of character and skill was equally, if not more important than worldly position or possessions. 

So is it possible to be happy? Yes, but I think we have to redefine our expectations. There will be moments, occasions, people, that make us happy. But things that make us unhappy are easier to define and often last longer; big things like knowing I am losing my brother bit by bit, day by day, to a debilitating illness; small things like a warning light that came on in my car yesterday. (There might as well be a $ sign that lights up at the same time.) 

So what to do...some people look to a religious belief to keep them looking inward as well as outward. Others find balance in meditation. I think that to start down a road of balance there are attributes, largely forgotten, that need to be cultivated.

Contentment - We live in a society of people who never have enough; where the pressure to have the latest whatever is enormous, and the expectation to fit in a prescribed mold is overwhelming for many. It is important to cultivate acceptance and how to be content in our circumstances, with what we have, and with who we are.

 
Gratitude - I feel like gratitude is the active side of contentment. It expresses with words and actions appreciation for what we have and who others are. This can be uncomfortable if you are shy or unused to it, but it is pretty easy to say a 'thank you'. Before long, with practice, you can express what you are thankful for..'thank you for calling', or 'thinking of me', or 'the ride'. It is so important to be grateful and to show appreciation.

Kindness - So many people feel unseen, uncared for, unloved. It is impossible to know the path that someone is walking and how they feel. A gruff manner or appearance can cover a deep pain. A smile can make someone's day, make them feel like someone has actually seen them. A gesture of help or a kind word can make a big difference to someone struggling. It only costs a moment of time.

Mindfulness - This is the one that takes more effort. This is the conscious decision to slow down, focus outward, and look for the small joys. I don't walk for my physical health especially, but for my emotional health. There are so many wonders to be seen on the path in the woods, or by the river. However, this is a practice to make part of your day no matter where you are. In the grocery store you can pause to enjoy the colours and shapes of the vegetables, or enjoy the the bouquets in the florist area. If you walk to the mailbox, enjoy the cloud formations, or a colourful door on someone's house. Being present, being in the moment, takes work but pays huge dividends in emotional well being. It also builds relationships because people sense that they have your whole attention and confers importance to the moment. 

These Virginia bluebells are considered spring ephemerals, which means that they last for a very short time. A moment of beauty, a reason to pause and enjoy, a cause for gratitude and mindfulness.

Spring has sprung?

According to the calendar the first day of spring or the Spring Equinox, Latin for "equal night" has now taken place. This is the day on which the length of the day and the night are very nearly equal in all parts of the world. Whether we believe that spring has actually arrived or not, (Mother Nature has been especially capricious) there is cause for celebration because the northern hemisphere is now beginning to tilt towards the sun, so our days will grow longer and warmer.(at which time we will likely complain about the heat) Winter-weary Canadians begin to search for evidence that there might be a season besides 'the frozen time' and hope that maybe some sunshine will clear up the coughs that seem to have taken up permanent residence in the population.

So I went in search of evidence. Spring brings many bird populations to our area; some are just passing through on their way further north, but many arrive here to nest and raise their families over the warm months. Trumpeter swans pause annually on this local pond for a short time. Apparently, by 1886, trumpeter swans, the largest largest waterfowl in North America, were extinct in Ontario, but a restoration program which began in 1982 has resulted in a healthy and self-sustaining population. 

This banded bird might be from the program in Wye Marsh, or LaSalle Park in Burlington, but having been raised in this protected way, these birds are not quite wild and have to learn migration behaviours. This one has found a perfect pond to summer on, with lots of reeds for nest building and safety, and water shallow enough to tip to the bottom to feed. Hard to believe that just 40 years ago I would not have seen this beautiful bird here.

Southern Ontario is both a breeding ground and an overwintering area for Canada Geese, so it is a bit hard to tell whether the large vees of geese in the skies right now, are coming or going.(not unlike how I feel by times) What is known, is that they mate for life and return to familiar nesting areas. They will be about that business very shortly so the goslings will be mature enough to fly come the fall.

Turkey vultures, who over-winter as far away as South America, are starting to return to their northerly breeding areas. They are so graceful as they circle effortlessly on the thermals, however up close, they are somewhat less, uh, prepossessing. Interestingly, the scientific name for turkey vultures is Cathartes aura, Latin for 'cleansing breeze', which is slightly unexpected, however, far from being a source of disease, vultures actually reduce the spread of disease. Clearly an avian lesson in judging the book by its cover.

Wild turkeys are not related to turkey vultures but the two are sometimes confused because of similarities in colour or shape. Spring brings groups of turkeys out of the forest not just to forage, but to begin mating rituals during which the toms strut their stuff with chests swollen and tails in full display. Wild turkeys, like the trumpeter swan, were extirpated or locally extinct, in Ontario. They were not reintroduced to the province until 1984, and these programs have been so successful that there are reports of crop loss and damage due to large groups of marauding turkeys. 

The return of the Red-winged blackbird is a sure sign of spring. The males travel in large groups ahead of the females, so perhaps they come early to choose their patch of the wetland. I read that this bird is believed to be one of the most numerous land birds in North America. Then I read that a male might have as many as 15 females nesting in his territory, who might have up to three broods a year, laying up to five eggs each time. Clearly Mr. Blackbird is not aware that Section 293 of the Criminal Code of Canada explicitly bans polygamy and threatens offenders with a five-year prison term.

These pussy willows were photographed March 1, 2017.  This year, there are only catkins visible on the ends of the branches so far, so they are a bit behind. Pussy willows remind me of one of my first trips to Quebec in the springtime. We drove out to rue Duvernay on the edge of town to cut some branches. The city has now overtaken that area and spread well beyond, but it remains a lovely memory.

A sure sign of spring is when the male Cardinals move up in the canopy to high perches and announce their territories. Northern Cardinals stay here all winter providing a brilliant spot of red contrast in a white landscape. They gather in flocks made up of pairs, and generally remain in lower dense thickets. Pairs will nest where there will be dense foliage and continue to forage of the ground. 

Apparently Brantford is in the northerly edge of where American Kestrels can be found year round. I have only seen them in the spring and fall, so I think they pass through to breeding grounds north of us, and winter south of us. Kestrels are the smallest of the falcons,and if I am lucky enough to see one, it is usually on a power line on the edge of a field.

The American crows have made their flight across the Great Lakes and are back in the region. According to the range maps, it appears that crows are year round American citizens who cross into provinces that touch the border for breeding, then most of the population returns to the US. As the climate changes there are more applications for dual citizenship.

My last trip by the dam brought me nose to nose with a couple of raccoons. The first one was busy snacking and not at all concerned by my presence. The other one was making his way up a huge tree trunk by the river. I noticed a hole in the trunk where he might have been headed. I was glad that 'bright-eyed and bushy tailed' applied to both. March is 'baby time' for raccoons so I will be watching for little bandit faces soon. 

Squirrels will be having the first of two possible litters around now, so they are busy chasing ladies and making nests. They are endlessly entertaining, as long as they leave my chimney and eaves off their list of possible nest sites.

This muskrat was feeding by the bank directly below the pedestrian bridge. Mama muskrat will be having the first of three possible litters about now. Living on the river, the nest will be a burrow in the bank, in a spot where the current is not as strong. Pond or marsh dwellers build lodges that have underwater entrances and nice dry platforms inside to nest. 

I thought that my footsteps on the bridge disturbed the muskrat, but it was more likely the appearance of this mink close by. A mink is cause for high alert, especially if there are babies in the burrow in the riverbank, because although the staple of a mink's diet is fish, it is a carnivore. This mink might have been about the business of its own nest though, because it sure was busy...and hard to photograph!    

On the home front, there are no crocuses or tulips peaking up yet. However, there were clear signs of vandalism on my favorite birdhouse. Apparently squirrels will chew entrance holes to gain access. The 'renovations' removed the perch entirely and may be up for rent to a squirrel looking to nest , or maybe just get out of the rain. I had a wren family in that box for the first time ever, last year so I am not happy about this unscheduled work.

Even though the weather is still cold, and there is no telling what Mother Nature might still have in store, there is a shift in the air. There is a hopefulness, an anticipation, a sense of expectation and excitement. When I am out now, I am looking for the little signs and sounds that announce that spring is in progress. Even though it is not yet safe to wash the winter coats and mitts, (this is Ontario and it is too early; do not test Mother Nature), I find myself taking deeper breaths and feeling lighter in my spirit. Mennonite farmers are on the side of the road with their wagons of maple syrup, a visual reminder that life is still pulsing in the forest. Maybe a sweet reward for surviving yet another winter season.

All things green

Well I finally changed the calendar on the wall to March, just in time to notice that the Ides of March are imminent, shortly to be followed by St Patrick's Day. I am at a time in my life when time is somewhat elastic; a whole week can become as one day, and to know exactly what day it is becomes important only if a significant event of some sort must be remembered. Like Monday, March 19th; date with baby John, woot! 

Sometimes, St Patrick's is all about green beer, shamrocks, and being Irish for a day. For me, it is a reminder of an unresolved family tree mystery. Recently, having your DNA tested has become something of a current fad, which may provide you with a pie chart showing what percentage of you came from Eastern Europe or Scotland, etc.. This gives you an idea from whence you came, but not the more important, from whomce, whom. 

So, the mystery; until the day he departed this 'mortal coil', my dad thought that his grandfather, Francis Leonard, was born in County Clare, Ireland. We were thusly, Irish. I decided to continue my father's work on the family tree and see what I could find. Before long I discovered that Francis Leonard was actually born in Canandaigua, New York, his father James, having decided for some reason to relocate from Ontario, Canada to Ontario, New York, for a period of time. James is never heard of again.

I think he must have died there because I next find, just the children, back in Ontario, in a little village called Ashgrove.

James was a genealogical brick wall until another researcher introduced me to James' sisters Margaret and Eliza, and his father James. This red letter day led to the discovery that James and his family all came from Manchester, England. 

James Thornton of this Parish and Town of Manchester, Tailor, and Mary Brown of Manchester, Spinster, were married in this Church by Banns Published June 29 July 6 & 13, 1806 this tenth Day of August in the Year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Six By me Joseph Brookes.(AND signed by my ggggrandparents, James Thornton and Mary Brown.)

Turning my attention to my dad's maternal line, I discovered that grandma's roots were in the Inner Hebrides on the Isle of Islay, Scotland, in a wee place called Conisby. Perhaps this partly explains my oldest son, who is all things Celtic, with a dram of peaty whiskey. Still no Irish.

I went back to Francis Leonard and found that he had married a Margaret Nixon in 1876. Great Grandma Maggie turned out to be first generation Irish Canadian, her parents Hugh Nixon and Matilda King having been born in Ireland. Maggie's death record shows Hugh's birthplace, and the gravestone that Hugh erected for his brother George, all confirmed that both Hugh and Matilda came from County Tyrone, Northern Ireland. This goes some way to explaining why my youngest son is part Manchester Oi! with the heart of an Irish rebel. 

So the family mystery is somewhat solved by locating the proper Irish root, and the correct County, but the ancestry home town is hidden yet in the Irish mist in the records of some parish church somewhere in Northern Ireland. One of these days maybe some Nixon descendant will make that journey and find those connections in a set of parish books, or some newly transcribed records will appear on some genealogical website that will save the trip. Not nearly as evocative as being there though.

I wondered why Hugh chose this particular time to leave Ireland. I don't know exactly when he took this journey, and I don't know if he traveled with family, or to join family. I do know that Hugh and Matilda married in 1830 in Ontario, so he arrived in Canada some time earlier. 

"May 5, 1830   Celebrated marriage, by licence, between Hugh Nixon of the Township of Esquesing in the Gore District, Upper Canada, Bachelor and Matilda King of Etobicoke, Home District, Spinster."

Sometimes there was no money to buy the passage for a journey of this kind, so a loan was purchased, and the surety for the repayment of the loan, was that a wife and family must be left behind until the loan was paid in full. Since this was not the case, perhaps it was natural disaster in Ireland. The potato famine which caused mass starvation, disease and emigration did not begin until 1845, so Hugh was raising a family in Canada by then. I suppose there could have been a siren call of adventure in a new world, but I think it more likely that the political and religious climate of Ireland probably provided a much more compelling reason to seek asylum. The political climate at the time was tense. Ireland was managed as a colony by Britain. The Irish Parliament was operated from the seat of government in Dublin Castle. Inspired by the French Revolution, a Society of United Irishmen was established, hoping the Irish, regardless of religious belief, could become a united body to bring about the removal of English control. This culminated in the Rebellion of 1798, which was cost many lives, and was in most ways fruitless because it brought about the end of Irish Parliament and the 1801 Act of Union which essentially put Ireland under much tighter control by Britain. This is the Ireland that Hugh was born in.

This excerpt from the 1871 census confirms that Hugh and his family were Protestant. "N C Meth", stands for New Connexion Methodist and Hugh would have attended, and possibly helped to establish the Ashgrove Methodist Church. As Church politics is as complex as any other kind, suffice it to say that this type of Methodism, and there were others, had its roots in the Church of England.

This building was eventually moved from this location and put to a different use. Only the graveyard remains here on what is now Trafalgar Road.

History shows that issues in Ireland were far from settled and conditions were only to worsen, so the family must have made plans to remove to a new land, and must have had the financial ability to do so. One can imagine that the hardship of the journey, and the difficulty in making a new start, might still pale in the face of the prospect of peace and religious freedom to be found here.

Of the 12 children that Hugh and Matilda had in Ashgrove, only three lived into the new century. Matilda died in 1857, so life in Canada was still perilous and came with a price. 

The other panels on the monument list the children's names and dates, a reminder of the cost of living in that time.

When Hugh passed away in November of 1881, my great grandfather Francis Leonard Thornton was the informant for the official record. He was still living in Ashgrove and was Postmaster at the time.

Maggie Nixon Thornton and Francis Leonard Thornton, Toronto, c1924

It is astonishing, and disheartening, to look back two hundred years and find that many things are still the same. Politics, of all types, are still unfathomable, and still serve the few, while affecting the many. Acts of domination, isolation and subjugation still divide people from one another. While science and technology move us forward at rates most of us cannot fathom, the species seems not to advance in positive ways. My mother would say "twas ever thus", and she may be right.

There is some question as to whether this is Hugh Nixon or not. I am hoping it is. He is one of my immigrant ancestors; a survivor and made of stern stuff. Stern Irish stuff. And Hugh, Son of Nicholas, I am proud to remember your legacy and tell you that you are 3X great grandfather to a wee boy who also bears the name Nicholas.  

In the aftermath

The sunshine called me to the river this morning. It has not been safe to be near the Grand for several weeks. In the middle of February the river was pretty normal for that time of year, not that 'normal' has applied to the weather patterns this year.

Then the temperatures changed,

and upriver, an ice jam broke loose sending huge chunks of dense ice, water and debris downstream. Suddenly the river downtown looked like this..

(photo above and below courtesy of Heather Roberts)

Flooding was, at one time, an annual occurrence and significant danger if you lived too close to the river, but in the twenty plus years we have lived here, we have never seen damage of this magnitude. The river rose above its high banks and over berms and flood control measures. The volume of water was astonishing and its arrival so swift that there was barely time to evacuate people from their homes. A state of emergency was called and three neighborhoods, involving over 2,000 homes, were taken by bus to safe places. The main bridges over the river were closed as well as the Veterans Parkway, virtually isolating West Brant.

Upriver, the large islands were underwater. It was hard to take in that a sleepy, old river, could overnight rise the number of feet necessary to put this much land underwater. Gives you a tiny taste of the horror experienced in Gulf States.

Access to the Dam and all river paths was barred and being watched by the City. The water was up to just below the viewing platform. The dam itself was underwater and the drop in the river not discernible at all. The roar was deafening and the visible power of the river awe-inspiring, but truly terrifying.

Thankfully, the ice and debris were able to break through and travel downriver. The state of emergency was lifted the next day, the bridges inspected and reopened, and the water level dropped significantly. The banks remained littered with great chunks of ice.

Several days later we drove to a park in West Brant to have a look. My husband posed to give perspective to the size of the ice chunk up on the path. That section of path is atop an 8 ft. riverbank, and the soccer field to the right was underwater just days before. I saw a photo story of a young man who found a big river carp stranded in that field and returned it to the river! 

This sight greeted us as we followed the path towards the forest area. The ice littered the forest to the right quite a ways in. Unbelievable.

I noticed that these trees on the top of the bank bore the scars of the ice passing through. The bark was gone on the side from which the ice traveled, and the second tree was partly uprooted and pushed in that same direction. As I looked across the river, the trees and shrubs by the rivers edge all bore this same band of missing bark. It seemed as though a giant hand had come and scoured the river banks, and that mirrored how my soul sometimes feels; scoured and raw, like my skin was rubbed off. I thought about how life's events mark us. Some leave scars that are visible; some leave obvious debris in its wake; some uproot and strand us, but there is no avoiding pain and loss and change. And those inner wounds have to heal, and there is a scar, and sometimes life's landscape is forever changed

In the meantime, the river continues to flow past, as do the days and so I go out when the sun shines and I find that;

the trees are beginning to bud,

a bunny is visiting the garden,

the deer are gathering,

and the swans are returning.

I see my first sandhill crane off in a field,

 

and a skunk out foraging in a cow pasture,

 On the path, the chickadees are still hungry,

 I see my first chipmunk out enjoying the sun,

 I find I am not alone on the path,

 a raccoon was out wandering

and way across the river in her immense nest sits mama eagle.

And at the dam, I stand in a spot that was under water only days ago, and the river flows by in the sunshine.