If you stood on the wharf at my childhood summer camp and gazed about a mile and a half or more towards one end of the lake, you would see the large hills that encompassed Lake Temiscouata. On a clear day, you could make out the Trans-Canada Highway cutting a grey line diagonally down one of the hills towards the corner of the water. At the bottom of that landscape was a gathering of small buildings: a few houses, a gas station, maybe even a small hotel. As your eyes moved closer to the water line, you could make out the train tracks, or portions of its razor straight line, through the openings between the trees. The high point of interest for me and my siblings was the little black bridge giving passage to the train over a small creek.

The bridge was not simply a meaningful landmark, but a milestone. We would race to call it out from the car during our summer commutes. We would watch trains coming and going, noting when it crossed the bridge.

A couple of times each summer, we would pack a lunch, maybe grab a hand-me-down fishing pole and make a day of hiking to the iconic black bridge. When we were finally permitted to go without a grown-up or an older cousin, it was a major milestone; a privilege that added to the adventure for a nine or ten year old.

The people living in the community surrounding that bridge never knew what it meant to us. I’m sure if they ever had the opportunity to see it from our wharf, they would gain a new perspective of their home. I doubt, however; they would recognize the context it played in our lives.

I wonder how many of our surroundings represent an important landmark or even a milestone to others? Perhaps your childhood boundaries included the neighbour’s oak tree, yet they didn’t know. Maybe when you drive by that all-too-familiar corner store, you know you’re only moments from your warm home and strong hugs. The workers inside keep to their tasks unaffected. Perhaps jogging as far as the road sign indicates you’ve reached your goal on your road to recovery. Yet the neighborhood is oblivious.

These are unknown connections to each others’ circles. They are numerous. They can be as powerful as they are invisible.
I get inspired contemplating how something in my environment, unknown to me, may be a strong marker, a milestone, a connection to someone else.

INVISIBLE CONNECTIONS

That landmark boulder, a dangling carrot, telling me I’m almost home, – That rose bush at the edge of the driveway, your boundary until Mom relents, you venture further on your own,

Your first time at the grown-up table, your hunger satisfied even before the first bite, – Or your first purchase, your own money, in the familiar store, counting out coins with delight,

These moments, these milestones, inserting us into each others’ circles, creating associations, -Yet our context is invisible to them, unaware of their own participation,

This tie we bind with each other, this proof we hold in solitaire, – Draw comfort in those connections, regardless the lack of witnesses to bear

B.Toner. January 2022