COLUMN: Tales from the Gravel Ridge – The wonder of the changing of seasons

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 13/10/2024 (258 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

The enchanting reality and wonder of the changing of seasons in our part of the world never ceases to delight me and continues to fill me with amazement.

Some years ago my husband Bernie was a member of an international team working at the Internal Revenue Service of the country of Guyana, in South America. I decided to accompany him for the approximately six-month term of the assignment.

We left Winnipeg in the middle of January during an exceptionally cold spell of -30C at noon. Landing in Georgetown, the capital city of Guyana, was an experience we shall quite possibly never forget. When exiting the aircraft that evening, we stepped into a tropical climate that seemed to us akin to a steam bath, with a +30C temperature. Fortunately for us, the City of Georgetown is on the Atlantic Ocean, and often those relatively cool breezes added to our enjoyment of the time we had in that wonderful city.

Spending that half year in Guyana has given us marvelous memories in many respects, including first and foremost the wonderful people we got to know. We also were truly fortunate to see many aspects of the spectacular landscape of Guyana, including its magnificent rainforest and its astonishingly wide rivers.

We knew that our time in Guyana would continue to provide us with a rich source of memories upon returning to Canada at the end of June that year. Indeed it continues to be the case for us. Nevertheless, we were also happy to return home. For me personally, having lived in the tropics for half a year has also given me a new appreciation for the changing seasons in our part of the world. I continue to delight in the drama that plays out before our eyes each year as one season changes to another. Our climate is indeed changing, but for now, the colours of the fall season, and the rustling leaves that are an integral part of it, are simply a reminder that winter is coming, but not just yet.

We are far removed in the 21st century and in our part of the world, from the essential preparations that my parents and the people of Rosengard had to make to ensure that they would be clothed adequately and housed safely and comfortably during those very long months of winter. And, needless to say, in order to ensure that a food supply for all of us, including livestock, would also be available throughout that season, everyone had to work hard, and efficiently, to achieve that end.

During my lifetime changes have occurred dramatically and rapidly for all of us, and somehow we have been lulled into thinking everything will get even better for us. We are foolish to make such presumptions. How can we possibly think that climate change will not affect all of us drastically in ways that we are presently unable to comprehend. Perhaps we should begin to think more ardently about how we will need to adapt if characteristics of our climate that have always appeared to be so reliable begin to change, sometimes imperceptibly but nevertheless with certainty.

I think the people of Rosengard had learned from their own experiences of migration and re-settlement that adaptation was an essential tool of survival. When I think of the women and men of our community, I am astounded at their enormous capacity to adapt. Perhaps it’s time that we reclaim and relearn those skills, and adapt them to our current circumstances. My parents and their friends and neighbours had also learned to cultivate and cherish beauty in various ways, including in the demands of the changing seasons, as expressed exquisitely by the American poet R.F. Hayward, the son of immigrant parents.

The Seasons
by E. F. Hayward
I love to watch the seasons change;
As Summer takes the throne from Spring,
So wonderful sublime and strange,
Each one its own sweet songs does sing.
It seems each one, in turn, is best;
Is gifted with some special grace;
Yet Summer fades, as have the rest,
And Autumn boldly takes its place.
This of the Four I hold most dear,
Would be content to have it stay;
But Winter comes to close the year,
And Autumn scenes must pass away.
Just so our lives; our childhood days
Are filled with joy, that’s ne’er forgot;
And he is wise who simply says,
“I love them all,” and murmurs not.