The Run Up Home Smith

Mrs T was reading all the news feeds on her cellphone when without warning it jumped out of her hands like a slippery fish.

Mr T dropped the morning paper looked over the rim of his glasses at Mrs T. He didn’t have to say anything at all. Mrs T knew from the expression on his face and the look in his eyes were saying, “What’s going on? “Where are you taking me Mrs T?”

“I know of a place we can go. It’s perfect for a good walk alongside the Humber River,” said Mrs T enthusiastically. I was reading all about it when my phone sprung free like that. Hey we’ve done it often before. “

Mr T found himself walking up a hill hoping for a destination of some sort. On reaching the hilltop Mrs T pointed, “Go down this roadway here. I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

The river ran through the bottom of the valley and beyond to Lake Ontario. Mr T had no idea he was tramping on history. “It began as a trade route used by indigenous folks that gave them access to open water all the way to Upper Canada,” said Mrs T with an air of authority. “They lived along the river banks right here. The land was bought by a Robert Home Smith and later sold to James Garden. The city now owns all these trails.”

“You read that on your phone didn’t you?”said Mr T knowingly.

Before long some kind of trouble loomed ahead. The roadway had been cut away leaving bare earth underfoot. Gingerly they negotiated a way over mud puddles from the recent rain.

A sign on the other side of the roadwork’s posted by the City read, “A historically straightened reach of a tributary of Humber River compromised aquatic habitat and posed a risk to adjacent land development.”

“What the heck does that all mean…land development? More condo’s ‘n stuff,” said Mr T pointing to an open expanse of meadow. I heard the province’s Premier had plans to build here,” said Mr T in disgust.

“Hold your horses Mr T that was some time ago and it didn’t go anywhere. Come on we’ve got some walking to do. See that weir up ahead…there’ a bench…we can see if any salmon are jumping.”

At the next weir the bench was occupied by other walkers who looked like they were fixtures on the trail although the lady was chatty, “…Been here awhile and not a sign of salmon.”

The T’s continued up the road to the next weir and the next, It was the last weir before the Dundas Street bridge where. Mr T sat on a stone ledge watching Mrs T watching for salmon cellphone in hand.

There it was, one sole salmon attempting to get over the weir desperate to reach it’s spawning ground. It had misjudged the jump and the force of the water pouring over the weir took the salmon with it. The cellphone clicked.

They turned back. On the way Mrs T explained how and why the Home Smith trail was connected to other trails and then at the foot of the hill. “There’s a weir beyond the bend in the river over there where everyone gathers to watch the salmon jumping. Its best viewed from the Eugene Brûlée trail on the other side of the river.”

Mr T knew all about it and thought she was only reminding herself of the fact.

They were in the car on the way home when Mr T said, “You know… we should go back to the start…to James Gardens. You said these trail are connected right!”

This startled Mrs T. Gobsmacked she looked sideways at him narrowly missing a long ladder hooked over the shoulder of a cyclist wavering up the hill looking for a destination.

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#nature #satire