Even with the familiar, there are new things to discover

A 34th wedding anniversary devotional

We usually go for a walk to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Sounds boring, I suppose – if we were more interesting people, maybe we’d skydive together or take flying lessons, or buy matching motorcycles (I’m not doing that, and if you knew why you’d agree) or some other adventurous activity.

Mapleton Acadian Forest Eco-Park.

You might think that as a couple, we’re stuck in the mud. Heavens, no. Well, maybe we are, but whatever. Simple, quiet pleasures only, please.

Dickson Falls, Fundy National Park

Most years, we go out for breakfast and take a walk on one of the numerous nature trails of the Maritimes, but we tend to gravitate towards familiar haunts – Fundy National Park, for example, where we spent many summers camping with our children. (We visited Dickson Falls today, bought a sticky bun at Kelly’s bake shop, and a delicious Buddha Bear coffee at the Holy Whale brewery.)

So this weekend while we celebrated 34 years of marriage (First of all, whut? Where did all those years go?) we took a drive to Elgin, in Albert County, which my husband loves. Whenever he’s there, he says he feels like he’s coming home. His maternal grandmother, Ella, grew up in Elgin (actually, in a farming area in the region called Meadow. Imagine, in the early 1900s, Ella’s family travelling to tiny Elgin by horse and buggy for supplies – they would have called it “going into town”).

We have travelled that way many times before, looking at land for sale, and talking about what our “third act” will entail, but for the first time noticed an eco-trail in Mapleton. “Wow, I didn’t know this was here,” my husband said. “Let’s walk through.”

Here was an opportunity to take a new walk in an old territory.

We headed in at the trailhead, and as we scrambled over roots and pushed branches out of the way, we could see that nature was beginning to encroach on the old 2.7 km path, which was obviously still in use by locals, but not as neatly manicured as provincial or federal parks. Along the way we saw a huge clearing filled with apple trees which was obviously the remnant of a farm orchard, and an old industrial stone wall from a manganese mine.

About halfway through, my husband stopped walking and pointed to a small clearing where the sunshine peeked through the canopy of trees, highlighting a circle of moss. His face took on a wistful expression. “I remember walking on my grandfather’s land, when I was a kid. I used to do that all the time, remember, I told you?” He looked at me for signs of agreement. I actually couldn’t remember if he told me that or not. I’ve forgotten so many details. But I smiled and nodded anyway.

“One time, I came upon a tiny clearing, just like that one,” he continued, “and it was beautiful, with a bright green moss carpet and a circle of trees around it. The sun was shining through at just the right way. And I thought, when I die and go to heaven, when everyone else asks God to live in a mansion, I would ask him if I could live someplace like this clearing.”

I turned to look at him and touched his hand. “That’s sweet,” I said. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me that story before.”

His eyebrows knitted together, thinking. “Hmm. I guess not. See, after 34 years, there’s still something new to tell you about me.”

We started walking again, and I made a face. “I’m sorry - I don’t have anything new to tell you. I’ve said everything already.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “S’okay. You can tell me again.”