There is a stretch of highway, running between Sudbury and Barrie, that I simply love. There's a wildness to the terrain and, even though only a couple of hours from Toronto, a true sense of nature. I've driven that road often over the years as I've done a fair bit of work in Ontario's northern communities. What strikes me about that highway the growing presence of Inukshuks that dot the highway. On top of rocky crags, in little nooks created in the rock face, perilously high on small ledges - there they are.
No where is seen the work of paint cans and graffiti tagging. No where is seen destruction or vandalism. No where. Just these markers, reminders of our past and our humanity, stand as testaments who what hands can do when they endeavour to create, not destroy.
We passed dozens of them.
I didn't tire of looking for them, and looking at the amazing way they've been made using only gravity as glue, only balance to guarantee endurance. Everyone was different. Every one made in the shape of humanity, and as humanity is vastly different so were these. I tried and I tried and I tried to imagine who had made these. But I couldn't.
And I didn't care.
Because all I needed to know, I already knew.
These were made by those who used their time to create. These were made by those who wanted to leave behind more, not less. These were made by people who honoured history by creating history.
I love that stretch of highway.
Inukshuk Way we call it.
The Inukshuk has several meanings - but for me, on that road, it simply means that someone wanted to give a gift to those who pass by. A gift that reminds us that we are part of history and that we can leave behind that which we create or that which we destroy.
And it's our choice.
Maybe the most important one we make.
