The weather lately has been quite a story. My own little swampy road is completely under water now for a few days and I could almost canoe to the Janetville city centre. That is how it is – we have all kinds of technology, smart phones, smart TV’s, smart homes, but the weather continues to be completely beyond our “smart” command.

It has been difficult driving and twice I have been on the road with very thick fog – the kind with which you are not sure what is ahead and you are equally afraid that what is behind is not going to notice your car in time to slow down, and you are not completely sure where you are even though you are on familiar roadways. I was on the 115 highway and I could see just barely through the thick fog that there was a dim orange light on the shoulder. Knowing that there was often a sign there I paid particular attention to try to read what it said, in case there was a road closure or an important notice. Straining to see I slowly moved through the fog that was hiding the message from view. At the last second, I was able to read it: “Fog may be possible.”

Spectacularly helpful sign!

That being said, there are often very helpful signs on the road. But sometimes when we are in the thick of a problem, a sadness, a change, we’re already pretty sure about the conditions of the path and a sign confirming the trauma is not that helpful. Journeying through life and work and relationships can be so hard sometimes, with plenty of uncertainty and unexpected calamities. I guess all we can try to do is drive through in a way that watches out for others and allows for others to drive safely too – and watch for the signs. Although, I think the one thing we can count on in our travels through this life – “Fog may be possible”.

Thanks so much for all you do each day on the journey.

For the last few nights I have spent time looking at the stars. There has been that magical combination of not too much moonlight interference and a clear sky on white snow. I am always amazed by stars and their light, knowing full well that the night sky I am now seeing does not exist anymore due to how long light takes to travel. All that aside, these last few nights I have felt like I could reach up and snap Orion’s belt like my grandpa’s suspenders, it has seemed so close.

A few years ago when my kids were small, we endeavored to sleep on the trampoline. I say endeavor because we eventually went in the house for the night – too many bugs and our neighbor down the road plays drums at night – who knew? We were stargazing for hours, and that is a real game changer when it comes to star gazing. You feel immersed, you see nebulas and blankets of stars that you miss in a passing glance, satellites and meteors. Millions and millions of stars felt like they closed in all around us and the effect was magical. I feel like the important thing here was the time spent in the looking, that undistracted examination. What seemed like a hundred bright stars turned into millions of stars once my gaze settled and I let my eyes adjust.

There is a lot going on all the time at work, home, school, and everywhere that you connect in community. A second glance, a little time in examination, a couple extra questions in almost every situation go a long way in helping us all to see what may have been at first hidden. There are so many gifts and opportunities all around, we just have to settle in, slow down and look deeply for the opportunities will shine bright enough to catch our notice and change what we thought we knew – or what we thought would be our next step. With all the work of amalgamation, there is still so much magic in getting to know the communities, the people and the processes – shining stars by the millions. For all you do each day, thanks so much; you brighten the corners where you are.

I live in the woods. Sometimes I wish I could see the sweeping sunsets or feel the wind as it gathers speed, but overall I like be nestled among trees. I do see some wildlife, but I am always astounded that, in the winter, my yard is covered in tracks. I can see that we have been visited by rabbits, weasels and lots of birds, turkeys, deer – even coyotes. Maybe their visit was brief or they know what time to walk about unseen, but in the wintertime they leave their trace in the footprints and I know that they are around and have been through the yard.

This past week, we had the sad news that a long-time volunteer for our Northern Learning Centre passed away after a brief illness. I was so saddened as I had just recently attended the Christmas gathering in Fenelon and spent time with him and the others there. My main purpose in going to the luncheon was to make sure that I could thank all of the volunteers for their hard work, but Eugene would have none of that. He quickly turned the appreciation spotlight back to others, the staff and the agency. He filled the room with his appreciation, gratitude and Christmas cheer – and he and his wife made sure that everyone felt comfortable and full of turkey.

Eugene was so passionate and engaged with the group. As a man of faith, he said grace and gave thanks that we could all be together and learn from one another.

I am not pretending that I knew Eugene well or that I know much about him – but in his time on this earth Eugene left his mark, volunteering his time in his retirement to our little group in Fenelon. In his whole long life this was probably a small engagement. But like those footprints in the snow he taught me about dedication, appreciation, corny humour and faith, and these lessons leave an indelible trace. Footprints will remain in the hearts of the whole group in Fenelon and wherever else Eugene chose to sojourn.

Thanks to everyone for all of the places that you travel, that you explore, that you support others to go. You leave traces of your passion and inspiration all over our three communities.

For all that you do each day, much thanks.

Teresa Jordan