Each week I do at least one photo-travel-shoot with a friend, (Usually Ray) this one was with April AKA Sublime Polyester on Flickr. April is a talented jewellery designer, graphic artist and photographer to boot!
This time I went to Edward Gardens in Toronto, the home of a former estate and now a public garden and park with plenty of floral displays, rock gardens and trails including an old water wheel.If you are visiting you will find it at the corner of Lawrence and Leslie in North York(MAP). For hikers and bikers it is of note that trails from here extend through ravines as far as the lakeshore!
It was a hot day in May, one of the first we’ve had this year and nice to be outdoors after our too long winter. April is taking a photography class related to her work and got me up to speed on using my camera with manual settings much more efficiently. Since this trip I have been experimenting more with shutter-speed, f-stops and ISO settings in manual.
Having some fun with Google search’s auto-complete, I typed in the word haunted and then each letter of the alphabet. Here are the results with links for the CURIOUS. Things take a particularly Canadian bent since Google knows all and sees all:
Driving down the highway I often wonder ‘what’s behind the trees?’ Today I answered a very small part of that very large question and discovered for myself the Bognor Conservation Area.
Described by Grey Sauble Conservation as covering “668 hectares of escarpment upland forests, three major marshes, reforested areas, natural regeneration areas, and several small springs feeding the marsh and stream system.” It was much more sublime than this dry depiction.
From the highway we walked through a corridor of trees. Fungi of every shape and sort clung to dead wood and the bases of living trees, caramel dragonflies and lilac butterflies flitted about. The trail ended in an open field and to our right the board-walk into the marsh began.The area opened up into a vast wetland populated by lilies and cat-tails. The songs of birds filled the air. Red-winged blackbirds, hawks and tree swallows were the most visible wildlife but snakes, frogs and turtles abound as well.
When I was a child there was an abandoned farm house across the road from my Uncle’s farm. The house looked angry in it’s dilapidated state. The overgrown weeds that throttled the yard, the weather-worn boards that clung to the deranged frame, the shards of glass from broken windows all said “Beware: Keep Out”, but they also said “I Dare You!” I was too young and too afraid to go inside, but I was curious. My older more daring cousins would go in and explore. I waited anxiously outside, listening to the cracking boards and rustling pigeons as the older kids rooted and probed intruding through the innards of the corpse-like house. Ultimately the stillness would be interrupted by a yell or cry followed by hysterical laughter and a torrent of footsteps as kids made a mad dash out the doorway. Then the stories were told, of strange shadows and glimpses of faces in dark corners, of whispering voices and sounds from the basement. We would all run back across the road to my Uncle’s farm looking from safety at the dead house grey and wizened under the same sun that shone on us.
This is a series I did of three abandoned places inspired by my fascination with forlorn buildings.
A few weeks ago Ray and I visited the Corran at Spirit Rock Conservation Area. We returned yesterday and went on the trail to the lookout. Along the trail there is an area that opens up into a grassy “orchard”. It is a wild and abandoned but you can make out what might be cherry or apple trees as well as some of the lost children of the rose garden that once grew there.
There was a grove of birch trees that we passed. When I was very young my mother collected birch bark from the road side. later she would cut patterns out of it and sew together tiny birch bark canoes and tee-pees. Spirit Rock is associated with a tragic “Indian Princess” legend. The story is that a young native woman fell in love with a member of a rival tribe and the following tribulations ended in her leaping off the cliff to her demise at Spirit Rock. On stormy nights when the lightning flashes ‘they’ say that her face can be seen profiled in the cliffs. Most of these Indian Princess stories seem to have been the creations of white settlers rather than actual native lore.
The lookout is fairly overgrown with cedar trees but a view of Colpoy’s Bay with it’s clear, almost tropical blue, water can be seen.