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Forest magic of Onhwa’ Lumina

It took me almost 20 years from the time I bought a travel book for Québec — so long ago guidebooks were still relevant — to setting foot in the province. But I made it! And while I’m not the most unconventional traveler I do seek experiences that are less tourist-y and, ideally, something you could only do in that place. In Québec City, that experience was Onhwa’ Lumina in Wendake, home of the Huron-Wendat people.

I grew up in Arizona, surrounded by the history and artistry of the Tohono O’odham, Hopi, and Navajo people (among others) as well as their reservations. So learning that Québec has a First Nations reserve just outside downtown was a unique opportunity that could not be missed!

Onhwa’ Lumina is a forest night walk through a series of illuminated stories that celebrate Huron-Wendat heritage. I started out in a crowd, and lagged behind in the early stations so that I could shed the group and have the forest to myself. That had the side benefit of slowing my mind down, seeing past the spectacle and being more fully present. It was a poetic and beautiful experience.

This kind of multimedia site installation is quite difficult to do well and this was even better than expected. Tellement fantastique! After some tiring days, being immersed in the forest and storytelling was exactly what I needed to reset.

This clip is one of the most elaborate pieces, the creation of Turtle Island. In the legend, a sick A’taentsik falls from the Sky World and is saved from falling into the Water World by birds. She lands on the back of the Great Turtle, who calls the Animal Council to help heal her by bringing up earth from around the roots of a submerged tree. The Beaver, Otter, and Muskrat try but fail, and finally a grandmother Toad succeeds and with her last breath deposits earth on the turtle’s back. This forms the foundation of the continent known as Wendat, and life flourishes. This visualization plays out on a rocky hillside, using the terrain as a canvas for the story.

Before nightfall, I had time to explore a nature park along the lovely Saint-Charles River including the waterfall known as Kubir Kouba. This is where two geologic regions meet — the St Lawrence Lowlands and the Canadian Shield. And after that, dinner of a delicious bison short rib at the indigenous restaurant Sagamité.

This was a fantastic evening, one I will always remember.

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Spring Blooms

While not much of a gardener, I will always stop to talk to the flowers.

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Grief on grief

Last year my long-term relationship evaporated overnight. While I can’t say there were no warning signs, they were certainly faint.

Silver linings from that have been similarly faint. But one upside has emerged in the wake of another painful loss — my mother, the other most important person in my life, died this fall. The warnings signs were louder this time, though the end was still very sudden.

Sadly, because of that earlier grief, I am more prepared for this one.

It doesn’t lessen this new pain, of course. How I wish it did! What it did do was show me how deep grief works so that I was not so surprised this time around. Surprised by how the early shock makes you think it might not be so bad. How the waves overtake you in small moments when the conscious mind lets go. How continuously exhausted you can be simply from feeling so much. How every time you think you’ve hit bottom you find out you were wrong and there’s farther to fall.

Having foreknowledge has helped me be steady on my feet so I can support my father, who is thoroughly surprised by all this. Less than two months in, it is only getting worse for him just as he thought it would be getting better. Yet for all my understanding I can’t fix any of this, for him or for me.

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Expanding my mental map

Yesterday a friend was telling me how computer games only render the rooms we are in to save memory, and that our brains aren’t so different. When we encounter something different or enter a new space, we force our minds to redraw the world around us even if all we do is go for a walk.

These days my world is smaller than usual. On my way home from a hospital visit a few hours later — for circumstances that are a big factor in my shrinking sphere — I discovered an unexpected new route through the big green blank on the map.

This tight, winding road took me through charming neighborhoods dotted with quaint buildings from generations past. Past rows of old growth trees bending over the road, and moneyed estates mixed with ranches that serve as a reminder of what the land once was. And finally into the open lands near my home that I have never explored. I’ve been meaning to find out what was over that hill, but my curiosity has been overwhelmed by overwhelm.

This ride was absolutely joyous. I couldn’t stop smiling! It expanded my map, literally and figuratively, just when I needed it most. I could attribute this to sheer coincidence, getting a message I needed at the right time. But I know this was not happenstance, it was my mind at work finding connections and meaning out of new information. Still, serendipity was evident in the weather — a mix of fluff and darkness, a little blue and sun persisting, the rain and dusk coming on fast. That perfect mirror of my life could not have been conjured by me.

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Of monsoons and mountains

Whoo! Back from a 1840 mile, 12 day solo driving trip home to Tucson. What a bittersweet trip, one of tears and mortality and also of life-affirming friendship and beauty and nature. The universe really came together on this one — my friend needed me, work didn’t, and being there is what I needed.

The sweet: Nowhere do I feel more calm and grounded than the Sonoran desert. It was unusually green and lush from the record monsoon season, and the desert welcomed me with beautiful sunsets and torrential rain and cooler temps. This desert speaks to my soul and being in it was a much needed balm. From the moment the terrain changed to a haze of striated, sharp mountains I knew I was in exactly the right place. This trip also coincided with a school reunion so a little extension made it possible to see old friends and celebrate still being here. And I bought some absolutely amazing art that will forever remind me of this trip and place.

The bitter? Well, first, this wasn’t a pleasure cruise. I was there to help a friend recovering from a distressing medical situation. (But spending time with her definitely goes in the sweet column!) There aren’t a lot of reasons I’d drive that far, but that’s one of them. Second, for years I talked about bringing my ex here, sharing my home with him and seeing it anew through his nature-loving eyes. We planned to hike here this winter. As I drove out through Gates Pass on the way to the Desert Museum and Saguaro National Park, tears flowed. I wanted so much to share these special places with him. He’d love it. There were a lot of miles alone with few distractions and I kept hitting pockets of grief. Third, I-5 is as unpleasant as I-10 is beautiful.

Soon I start a new job and I’m grateful to have had this time to connect with people and places that mean the world to me.