I was raised in small, isolated mining town north of Lake Superior.

At the age of 14 years old I was sent off to a private French Catholic high school. The high school was a long day's journey north.

Two weeks before I was to be sent away I took my bike and ran away. It wasn't because I didn't want to go to school as much as I would miss the freedom of being where I knew it so well. In fact, I looked forward to the experience.

Just for today, I wanted to run away.

I walked out along a trail to Second Valley that my friend Bobby and I had hacked out of the forest two years earlier.  I pushed my bike, rather than ride it, because the trail had become overgrown since we had cut it. 

Bobby had done most of the work, since it was his idea. He always seemed to have all the tools and was always enthusiastic about his projects.

When I got to the rim of the valley I stopped. No one else was around. It was so quiet I could hear my own heart beat.

Surrounded by the low trees typical of northern climates, I could hear the rustling of small animals and birds in the trees. Perhaps they had been frightened by the appearance of a human when they weren't expecting one.

My eyes grabbed the images of evergreens, low bushes,  poplar and birch-bark as though I were a photographer on a news story.

The sun was so bright, everything seemed illuminated, like in a dream, like in a painting come to life. The bark of the poplars never seemed so dusty green, the birch-bark never so white.

The late summer grasses wore their richest, darkest emerald.

With my bike leaning against me, I listened to the rippling sound of leaves that only poplar and birch trees can make.

Listen to the soft whispering that brings peaceful feelings to my mind even now, fifty years later.

Looking out over that green vision, I can see the glistening of the Magpie river, occasionally peeking through the ever-moving leaves of distant trees.

To the left I look and see the marsh and wet-land cedars. Out in the open areas, I watch the summer grasses flowing. To the right, like two pencil lines, I just make out the tracks of the mining company trains.

Mostly I am aware of the peace and quiet and a safe feeling of being alone. As a boy scout I had learned to fend for myself, to survive,  in the forest.

Someone had expressed a fear of being alone in a forest. I think about this as I stand here. I feel safe where others do not understand that Mother Nature made this moment just for me.

I turn to go home, not realizing that never again would I see this valley the same way.

When I return to it years later, civilization has destroyed it. Where once beautiful cedars grew wild, I find a sewage processing plant serving the town and, in the distance a highway has cut it in half.

My memory remains intact. I carry this safe haven, the pristine forest, forever in my mind.

As often as I can, I run away to the peace of my Second Valley.

Fear In Contrast

My memories of Second Valley can be called up at anytime to help me become calm and peaceful.

Other remembered images are less pleasant. I have a fear of heights and I know how I learned it.

A few miles from town, the mining company dug a huge hole in the ground in the surrounding mountains, for its open-pit mining operations.

I delivered papers to the bunk houses that were built directly along the edge of that open pit.

One day I looked out a window over-looking the pit,  not expecting the hole to be so deep and close.

I was startled.

I immediately became fearful that the ground would collapse into that hole. That fearful image has also stayed with me.

When I want to experience a fear of heights, all I need to do is make that image in my mind. This one time experience has made its mark on my mind for life. 

Sometimes, I see it in my dreams. In those dreams, I am sometimes able to fly over the hole and other times I just cling to its sides in terror.

Even as I sit here thinking about my experience I feel a tension in my shoulders and back. 

We Get to Choose

We can shape our feelings by choosing not to dwell on or changing those thoughts that make us feel so badly.

If a bad memory comes to mind when you are doing something similar then you have many alternatives and choices.

If I can fly over the pit in my dreams, can I not also make a movie in my mind of flying over it?

You can also start counting from a thousand backwards. Or, force yourself to focus on something pleasant. Or, force yourself to focus on what you are doing now. Or, dream up a new image of yourself conquering your fears. Or, play the whole experience backwards until you are at your safe point again.

Do anything that puts you back in control of your feelings, no matter how weird the method. It is your mind and you never need tell anyone what you do to be at peace.

Only when a memory or belief becomes an obstacle to your everyday functioning that you need to do something about it.  If a memory doesn't prevent you from doing something you want to do, then just accept it.

Now, I take leave of you to go daydream about my Second Valley.