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Brigadoon
Webster’s says Brigadoon is a place that is idyllic, unaffected by time, remote from reality.
It was also a play from the 1940's and a movie.
I never met the cast or any of the characters from them, but I am sure I found a Brigadoon right here in Canada. My first encounter with my idyllic Brigadoon, one of the most beautiful and most memorable places I have ever seen, was more than twenty years ago, while a friend and I were laying out a car rally route.
It was quite foggy and everything was grey when we left home. We had still not seen a hint of the sun three hours later when we were driving slowly on an unpaved back road we had never been on before. As we made our way up a long hill in the thick fog we almost missed seeing what looked like a tiny lane on the side of the road. There was no sign to indicate it was a public road, but it was wider than a driveway, and it caught our attention. Had we not been moving slowly we almost certainly would not have seen it at all, as bushes grew tightly against both sides and there were many bushes and trees behind it. Except for fifteen feet the surface could not be seen at all, as it was sloped and dropped quickly away from the road we were on. We stopped and what we saw was basically a road-width path, with tire tracks....sort of. It was not much more than ruts in the mud. The deep ruts made it obvious that this was a run-off point for water from the road we were on, but it was also obvious someone had been on it.. We could see only a very short distance because of the fog., but we decided it would be great to have something unusual in our rally and aimed the car toward it.
Gingerly, we approached the path and entered it, finding that it dropped away from the road very sharply. Before we got twenty yards along the path we were well below the road we had been on, and we were bouncing down across the muddy ruts. Seconds later we were amazed as the fog thinned suddenly and we found ourselves in a forest, the dirt path weaving between trees that tightly enclosed it on all sides and leaves on their high branches entirely covered us overhead, blocking any view of the sky above. The path almost levelled, then dropped again. We were fifty to sixty feet below the other road and happy to have escaped the ruts when it felt like our world changed. Almost magically the fog began to disappear as quickly as having a strong wind move it, but the air was still. As the fog diminished we could see through the trees to a clearing on the right, with the brightening sun showing us a lush green plateau, with a background of variegated colours, the trees fully engaged with their fall changes. The suddenly brilliant sun highlighted a solitary stag deer that was standing erect in the grass, cautiously observing us as the last vestiges of fog between us shifted, thinned, and vanished into the air, while remnants of the white wisps behind him did the same.
We were astonished at the breathtaking beauty that emerged, watching in awe as it actively revealed itself all around us. Just like Brigadoon.
.
I have revisited the area many times in the intervening years. Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, my wife wanted to see the fall colours there. We had light rain in the morning, following three days of intermittent rain, but the forecast said sun in the afternoon.
We packed food and drinks as snacks, put the boys in the back seat, and headed off. Rain had stopped, but it was still cloudy and overcast. When about halfway there we ran into fog and it stayed with us, thickening as we progressed. The promised sun did not appear. The boys are not accustomed to driving in fog, so this was something new to be enjoyed. We reached our turn-off and went down the tree-lined gravel road, both boys commenting about how wonderful it looked and saying they loved this foggy adventure. The little road now has a sign. It says the road is CLOSED between 15 November and 15 April. The deep ruts are no more as through the years something has been done to deter the water damage, but beyond the first few feet of gravel at the entrance it is still dirt.
Somehow, this became like a return to the time of my first visit, but now shared with family. Only seconds after we began our downward drive beneath the trees, the fog entirely disappeared. Sunlight was above us, obscured by the foliage of the overhead branches, but glinting like little spotlights to ease
the shadows of the road.. The trees had only begun their annual change, and will still need another week before donning the brilliant yellows and reds of their autumn regalia, but the natural beauty is there as always, regardless of season.
We reached the little plateau area where I had once seen the deer, and we stopped there, putting the tires into a small ditch, just in case anyone else came along, as the road is not wide enough for two vehicles at that point, and we all got out of the car. Most leaves are still on the trees that meshed above the road and hid the sun from our view, leaving us in shadow, but the vista beyond the trees was amazingly green and sparkling in the sunlight. About ten crows took flight as we neared them and then, as we stood by the rusty fence we looked all around to take in the natural beauty we saw geese and ducks gathered on a hillock in the direction of the tiny farm that lives down there.
My wife noticed a large, milky coloured mushroom growing from atop the broken stem of a dead tree, about 15 feet from the ground . I had to walk into the thick and tangled brush to get a photo of it, cautiously walking amongst a number of others that had fallen and were lying on the ground, slowly surrendering essential nutrients to the forest as they decayed. .
Back at the fence, my wife felt it was surreal: there was barely a whisper of sound in the air and the air itself was still, yet it was filled with an ethereal energy. The energy it carried and imparted was like a relaxing elixir that invited all to partake and enjoy. She later told me it was the first time in her life that she could actually feel her own presence and for those moments she knew what total peace is like.
Mosquitoes, not many in number, but enough to be annoying were rising and that was our hint to leave.
We drove up to the end of the road in the late afternoon sunlight and then continued several miles along a few other side roads, where there were so many beautiful scenes, including a creek whose name told me it would become a large river as it neared Toronto. Traffic was almost non-existent, so we enjoyed the view and the many lovely things we saw along the way as we made a circle and went back onto the magical road that we had just left.
As we reached the little farm my wife looked across the pond and noted that just beside it there were what looked like tiny 18th century houses forming a miniature old-time village the farmer had apparently built for the farm animals and birds as they were moving in and out of the “houses”.. By then it was growing darker under the trees, so we did not stop again, but continued to the entrance where our wonderful visit began. There our last surprise awaited.
We rose from the valley on the final slope of the hill, greeting a pair of hikers as we reached the gravel of the original side road......and immediately we were surrounded by the same fog that we escaped earlier. Perhaps it had anticipated our return, and waited for us, as the fog accompanied us most of the way home.
Just like Brigadoon.
Webster’s says Brigadoon is a place that is idyllic, unaffected by time, remote from reality.
It was also a play from the 1940's and a movie.
I never met the cast or any of the characters from them, but I am sure I found a Brigadoon right here in Canada. My first encounter with my idyllic Brigadoon, one of the most beautiful and most memorable places I have ever seen, was more than twenty years ago, while a friend and I were laying out a car rally route.
It was quite foggy and everything was grey when we left home. We had still not seen a hint of the sun three hours later when we were driving slowly on an unpaved back road we had never been on before. As we made our way up a long hill in the thick fog we almost missed seeing what looked like a tiny lane on the side of the road. There was no sign to indicate it was a public road, but it was wider than a driveway, and it caught our attention. Had we not been moving slowly we almost certainly would not have seen it at all, as bushes grew tightly against both sides and there were many bushes and trees behind it. Except for fifteen feet the surface could not be seen at all, as it was sloped and dropped quickly away from the road we were on. We stopped and what we saw was basically a road-width path, with tire tracks....sort of. It was not much more than ruts in the mud. The deep ruts made it obvious that this was a run-off point for water from the road we were on, but it was also obvious someone had been on it.. We could see only a very short distance because of the fog., but we decided it would be great to have something unusual in our rally and aimed the car toward it.
Gingerly, we approached the path and entered it, finding that it dropped away from the road very sharply. Before we got twenty yards along the path we were well below the road we had been on, and we were bouncing down across the muddy ruts. Seconds later we were amazed as the fog thinned suddenly and we found ourselves in a forest, the dirt path weaving between trees that tightly enclosed it on all sides and leaves on their high branches entirely covered us overhead, blocking any view of the sky above. The path almost levelled, then dropped again. We were fifty to sixty feet below the other road and happy to have escaped the ruts when it felt like our world changed. Almost magically the fog began to disappear as quickly as having a strong wind move it, but the air was still. As the fog diminished we could see through the trees to a clearing on the right, with the brightening sun showing us a lush green plateau, with a background of variegated colours, the trees fully engaged with their fall changes. The suddenly brilliant sun highlighted a solitary stag deer that was standing erect in the grass, cautiously observing us as the last vestiges of fog between us shifted, thinned, and vanished into the air, while remnants of the white wisps behind him did the same.
We were astonished at the breathtaking beauty that emerged, watching in awe as it actively revealed itself all around us. Just like Brigadoon.
.
I have revisited the area many times in the intervening years. Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, my wife wanted to see the fall colours there. We had light rain in the morning, following three days of intermittent rain, but the forecast said sun in the afternoon.
We packed food and drinks as snacks, put the boys in the back seat, and headed off. Rain had stopped, but it was still cloudy and overcast. When about halfway there we ran into fog and it stayed with us, thickening as we progressed. The promised sun did not appear. The boys are not accustomed to driving in fog, so this was something new to be enjoyed. We reached our turn-off and went down the tree-lined gravel road, both boys commenting about how wonderful it looked and saying they loved this foggy adventure. The little road now has a sign. It says the road is CLOSED between 15 November and 15 April. The deep ruts are no more as through the years something has been done to deter the water damage, but beyond the first few feet of gravel at the entrance it is still dirt.
Somehow, this became like a return to the time of my first visit, but now shared with family. Only seconds after we began our downward drive beneath the trees, the fog entirely disappeared. Sunlight was above us, obscured by the foliage of the overhead branches, but glinting like little spotlights to ease
the shadows of the road.. The trees had only begun their annual change, and will still need another week before donning the brilliant yellows and reds of their autumn regalia, but the natural beauty is there as always, regardless of season.
We reached the little plateau area where I had once seen the deer, and we stopped there, putting the tires into a small ditch, just in case anyone else came along, as the road is not wide enough for two vehicles at that point, and we all got out of the car. Most leaves are still on the trees that meshed above the road and hid the sun from our view, leaving us in shadow, but the vista beyond the trees was amazingly green and sparkling in the sunlight. About ten crows took flight as we neared them and then, as we stood by the rusty fence we looked all around to take in the natural beauty we saw geese and ducks gathered on a hillock in the direction of the tiny farm that lives down there.
My wife noticed a large, milky coloured mushroom growing from atop the broken stem of a dead tree, about 15 feet from the ground . I had to walk into the thick and tangled brush to get a photo of it, cautiously walking amongst a number of others that had fallen and were lying on the ground, slowly surrendering essential nutrients to the forest as they decayed. .
Back at the fence, my wife felt it was surreal: there was barely a whisper of sound in the air and the air itself was still, yet it was filled with an ethereal energy. The energy it carried and imparted was like a relaxing elixir that invited all to partake and enjoy. She later told me it was the first time in her life that she could actually feel her own presence and for those moments she knew what total peace is like.
Mosquitoes, not many in number, but enough to be annoying were rising and that was our hint to leave.
We drove up to the end of the road in the late afternoon sunlight and then continued several miles along a few other side roads, where there were so many beautiful scenes, including a creek whose name told me it would become a large river as it neared Toronto. Traffic was almost non-existent, so we enjoyed the view and the many lovely things we saw along the way as we made a circle and went back onto the magical road that we had just left.
As we reached the little farm my wife looked across the pond and noted that just beside it there were what looked like tiny 18th century houses forming a miniature old-time village the farmer had apparently built for the farm animals and birds as they were moving in and out of the “houses”.. By then it was growing darker under the trees, so we did not stop again, but continued to the entrance where our wonderful visit began. There our last surprise awaited.
We rose from the valley on the final slope of the hill, greeting a pair of hikers as we reached the gravel of the original side road......and immediately we were surrounded by the same fog that we escaped earlier. Perhaps it had anticipated our return, and waited for us, as the fog accompanied us most of the way home.
Just like Brigadoon.
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