A number of years ago my neighbour, now deceased, told me of a remote ridge of old growth pines south of my lake. Somehow I felt a very deep bond with those trees, despite never personally witnessing their wild beauty. I tried to protect them politically through the Ontario government's Lands For Life process. While seeking to locate them I have had a number of scary "lost in the bush" misadventures. In January 1995, after returning miraculously from yet another near death winter encounter I felt moved to pen my first short story, entitled The Sentinels. In the story, the hero, a freelance radio journalist, is seeking an isolated old growth pine remnant south of his cabin. After much effort he finds the secluded grove and falls asleep beside a large rock under a stately white pine. He had been recording a natural soundscape prior to his snooze and the tape machine continued to run. Later, back at his cabin, he listened to the recording and heard:

"We the largest Pines, the last of our kind, are Elders. We rule this forest and beyond. For untold winters and summers, many deer, moose, bear and grouse have paused and rested here. The big rock was dropped here long ago by the great Ice Spirit. It was a gift to the dwellers of this Land. Its power has helped us spread our seed to replenish our kind when your people cut us down. But our purpose is more than this and that is what your kind may never know. For you live in your bubble world of your machines and partial knowledge, a world bereft of spirit, ignorant of truth. As Elders, our link is with Spirit. Unbeknown to you we help bring in spring's life force into the creek dogwoods, into the hillside maples, into the trilliums in the rich valleys. We bring the regenerative force of Spirit through the power of the great granite block so that all may benefit from the warm breath of April and the strong sun of summer.

Our benevolence spreads far and wide. We touch the dark soil of your garden and the tender buds of your orchard trees. Later, we maintain the balance so you may harvest the green vegetables you love so dearly. For centuries some humans knew our role. They were native. Like us they were persecuted, their culture felled. Like us their wisdom was ignored. Now times have changed. Now your people listen to the native views on your radio. Far back in the mists of time your people across the great ocean knew and listened. They were persecuted too. Now some remember.

For too long, places of power have been desecrated, destroyed. But there was no need. When your people come again to take the trees we do not object. We know they are needed by your people. But, we ask for respect for the places that are sacred. This ridge where we stand tall is one of those places. If humans do not respect us or our role, then our benevolence will vanish as the spring snowbanks. The rains will not replenish the ponds and lakes. The winds will wail louder. The forest will die from our neglect. It will be a time when the balance will be lost. That time is almost here. You who listen to us now, you are the teller of stories. We ask you to tell our story."

I still bristle when I consider that these were my written words; perhaps the spirits communicate with us whether or not we are conscious of it. How much untapped potential lies in consciously listening to and heeding their wisdom?

William Bradley is a writer/broadcaster living in his eco-home south of Sudbury, Ontario. Currently he is looking for information for a documentary on spiritual gardening possibly to be aired across Canada. He can be reached via email: william_bradley@hotmail.com