The alarm rang at 5:30 AM, but Bruce left his phone alone. He pulled on his old hiking boots and checked his pack: water, trail mix, a map of Minnekhada Park, and his grandfather’s field guide to Pacific Northwest birds. Driving west from Abbotsford, the city sounds faded away, and the sun began to brighten the edges of the coastal mountains.
The parking lot at Minnekhada was quiet. Bruce stepped onto the Lower Marsh Trail, and the boardwalk creaked under his feet. The air smelled of damp earth and pine. A wood duck and its mate floated in the shallow water, their reflections clear in the still pond. Bruce paused to take in the calm. For the first time in weeks, his to-do list was far from his mind. Then he noticed something black moving in the trees above the pond: a black bear with three cubs. The bear looked across the pond, either deep in thought or simply watching.
The trail wound through tall cedars and Douglas firs. Bruce ran his fingers over the rough bark as he walked. He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to an old tree, feeling grooves shaped by years of weather and sun. He thought, ” This tree doesn’t check emails. It just exists. A squirrel chattered above, making Bruce laugh. There was no agenda, no deadline, just life happening.
On the eastern side of the park, Bruce hiked the Quarry Trail. He noticed the trees standing at attention as if on parade. The view opened to the meadow, with songs from the local songbirds, the Pitt River winding through the valley, and snow-capped mountains behind him as he moved forward. As he walked along the path, he could hear the frogs talking to one another. Bruce sat on a park bench and took out his journal. Now, the words came easily. Life questions, but honest thoughts about what life is teaching him. The wind moved through the grass, almost as if the land was speaking to his heart.
When he returned to the car, the afternoon sunshine was golden. His phone lit up with notifications, but he set it aside and took a deep breath. The hike hadn’t solved his workload, but it reminded him of something simpler: he was more than his inbox. The trees seemed to follow him along the trail to his car. The bear and her cubs disappeared into the tall trees. The trails, winding and uncertain, always led somewhere. Bruce felt relaxed.
That evening, Bruce replied to one last email, then closed his laptop. Tomorrow, he would tackle the spreadsheets. But tonight, he would remember the quiet, the green, and how the park had given him space with no questions asked. Balance, he realized, wasn’t about doing everything. It was about remembering to pause and press your hand to the bark now and then.
