I See Ghosts – Part 3

Maybe it’s just the influence of Hallowe’en approaching, but I have ghosts on my mind.  It seems that I’m seeing them everywhere lately.

It started last week in Picton when we drove past an old abandoned military base from WWII.

There were tall, unfriendly fences surrounding the site of boarded-up buildings with even unfriendlier signs warning against trespassers.

I could practically hear The Voices suggesting I sneak in and pay a visit, but on this bone-chilling day,  I stayed on the side of the angels and didn’t venture past the NO TRESPASSING signs.

… but I whispered back softly “I’ll return, mes amis”.  I promise.

This week we went hiking on a nearby trail I haven’t been on in a couple of years.  Has it really been that long ago already?! Time goes by so quickly.

I knew the old abandoned road was there – I had passed by it many times … but on this day I could hear The Voices calling me again to visit.

So, for the first time, we followed the ghost road to see where it ends – with questions swirling around in my head.  Does the old road feel despair in its abandonment?  Or is it comforted as Nature slowly regains its hold?

The road ended abruptly dissolving into trail ruts.  A short distance later, even the ruts ended suddenly … without revealing any of its secrets.

And because things always seem to have a way of happening in threes, I found myself called again by The Voices.

This time I was drawn to the old abandoned house located on a cycling route I travelled dozens of times in the past.  It’s been almost a decade since I rode those long hard miles, training for races that now feel like ancient history.

This time I ignored the NO TRESPASSING signs which are now being overrun by the wildness around them.

When cycling alone for hours on quiet country roads, it can be challenging to find places to stop for a bio-break … especially for a woman.  The brush behind this old ghost house was one of my favourite stops for few moments of much-needed privacy.

I developed a fondness for this quiet spot.

Nature has been aggressively reclaiming its hold and the old home is starting to show the deep scars of the battle it is losing.

This was not a neglected, unloved home.  Since it lay in the path of a planned new federal park, the property was appropriated by the government.  It now sits within the 79 square kilometres of the Rouge National Urban Park.

While I approve the preservation and protection of wild spaces which this park represents, I’ve always greeted this old home with sadness.

On this day even The Voices were quiet and subdued with respect.

Maybe you hear The Voices too and see the ghosts around you.  They have stories to tell … if you’re listening.