From 1940 to Today: Lessons on Balance and Resilience
The Ottawa Evening Citizen bore a headline that still echoes through history: ""FRANCE SEEKING PEACE: BRITAIN TO FIGHT ALONE."" The date was Monday, June 17, 1940. The subheadings painted a bleak picture of France's defeat: "Great Maginot Fortress Gone, Nazi Hordes Sweep Southward."
Today, we call this moment the Fall of France, but in those tumultuous hours, the newspaper couldn't benefit from hindsight. It presented the confusing news of Europe's rapidly developing situation by quoting Prime Minister Petain. It was the first policy decision of the ""Hero of Verdun"" after taking over the leadership from Raynaud. Petain had addressed his countrymen in a radio broadcast: "I made contact with the adversary last night, asking him as soldier to soldier to seek with me the means to stop the fight."
Another article in the same newspaper was more forthright, labeling it for what it was: "The appalling, if not surprising, news of the capitulation of France."
While war raged in Europe, Canadians, separated by an ocean but united in spirit, anxiously awaited word from their government. The Ottawa Evening Citizen wrote that the Canadian Parliament anticipated a pronouncement reaffirming their commitment to stand by the Mother Country in the fight for human liberty.
Amid this turmoil, everyday life in Canada continued. It was the start of cottage season when many families in Canada's capital traditionally retreated to the countryside. But in the summer of 1940, a creative idea was taking shape. Instead of individual cottages, a group of primarily civil servants banded together, pooling their resources to acquire a vast expanse of land. On this land, they shared access to serene lakes teeming with fish.
They constructed a grand wooden clubhouse on the water's edge, with a kitchen, dining room, living area with a cozy fireplace, and several bedrooms.
More than 80 years later, I was invited today to this private club that had opened its doors during that turbulent summer. Here, I came across a copy of that newspaper, describing what must have been the main topic in any conversation on the lake-side in the summer of 1940, where nature's tranquility met the majesty of the eternal forests.
I walked on trails so seldom used that you feel like the first to ever explore these woods. Close to the shore of the lake, I noticed that a beaver had recently been at work here, gnawing at a tree that teetered on the edge of collapse.
A tree had been gnawed so much that it could fall any moment. A stone's throw away lay the impressive lodge of the beaver family. In 1940, the founding members of this club would have strolled these same paths in awe of nature's beauty.
How did they feel, I wonder? It was an era when fascism won on all fronts, and hope for democracy seemed perilously scarce. The future appeared shrouded in darkness. While the United States strove to avoid involvement in the world's conflicts, Canadians knew their nation would inevitably be drawn into another massive war far away from their shores.
Joy and happiness in beautiful nature, while the world's future looks darker than ever, is a theme that resonates today for me as a visitor to this majestic place. Fascism, wearing different masks, is on the rise. Reports of the agonizing suffering of innocent civilians in war zones haunt our headlines. Added to this mix of deep concerns is a new element absent in 1940: we are overstepping the planetary boundaries like climate change and biodiversity loss, within which humanity can continue to develop and thrive for generations.
As I walked the trails and relished nature and the fresh air of the forests, I was again struck by the contrast of the life I lead while the planet's future is at peril and many lives of civilians in war zones are forever destroyed. It comes with a feeling of guilt, anger and sadness.
Like a rabbit caught in the lights of a car, I feel this like a fight or flight moment: use whatever I can offer to work towards a better, fairer, and ultimately happier world, or hide in nature and swap an apprehensive global outlook for one that is local with an eye for the beauty of culture, history, nature, and humanity that is still all around me.
I didn't find all the answers on those trails, just as I failed to find them during my pilgrimages on the Camino de Santiago or my long walks through the dunes and forests of the island I call home. But each of these moments serves as a poignant reminder of what's at stake, and being in nature revitalizes me when hope wanes. Perhaps a retreat into nature, much like those who sought consolation here in 1940, offers a semblance of balance, a refuge where we can find harmony in the face of uncertainty.
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The way to bear strife is by maintaining balance. We must visit beauty in order to endure the conflict. A taste of sweet to tolerate the bitterness. The beauty feeds our hope and ability to continue. Thank you for helping us keep harmony.
The world doesn't stop turning. And we have to do our part. We have to keep the balance. We need forest trails. We need to breathe with the pulsing heart of will. We are tireless walkers.