In the 19th century, American author and philosopher Henry David Thoreau extolled leisurely walking for connecting people back with their senses, and for being a participatory activity: “The walker is not merely an onlooker, but experiences nature as tactile and taste-full.” Some doctors in Canada are even prescribing time in nature for patients’ health and wellbeing. The benefits of walking in nature (sometimes recently referred to as “ forest bathing”) has long been studied and appreciated. “We’ve, all of a sudden, become fiercely proud of it.” “They think we’re two hours north of Toronto, and I say, ‘It’s 900 metres from my house,’” he said. “I never really consciously thought of it, but it is a really great start to the day.”īerga takes pride in taking pictures of winter scenes on his hikes and sending them to faraway friends and family. However Berga uses the valley, he says he always ends up feeling more upbeat. He and his family met friends for long explores in the woods when it was one of the only safe places to socialize, or simply to let their dog Cash off his leash. Like me, Bruce Berga, a local chef, learned the secret of Crothers Woods from a neighbour who knows most of the Don Valley’s paths. “Having a dog gives you permission to stop and linger and loiter.” He misses his walks with Sebastian, who recently died. “It still reveals things, little passages, little nooks and crannies that I’ve never been to … I think that sense of unknown and mystery and discovery probably intrigues a lot of people as they come down, and the pandemic has nudged a lot more people into doing things.”ĭogs give people licence to practice a form of psychogeography and explore their urban environments in new ways, Micallef said. “It maintains its mystery and sense of discovery every time,” said Micallef, author of Stroll: Psychogeographic Walking Tours of Toronto. Shawn Micallef, a flâneur and columnist for the Toronto Star who often visited Crothers with his miniature poodle, Sebastian, calls it a hopeful place. The device at one popular trailhead on the west side of the woods recorded nearly three times as many daily hits in 2021 as it did in 2016. The City of Toronto, which manages the woods, clocks the trail system’s use through an infrared tracking system installed on wooden posts that detect movement on the paths. Everyone, it seemed, needed somewhere safe to roam.Ĭlick the plus signs on the map for more:Ĭrothers is no exception. According to the Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, which safeguards nine watersheds overall and owns most of Crothers Woods, the average number of people using its trails jumped 30 per cent from 2019 to 2020, and another 20 per cent from 2020 to 2021. As the pandemic wore on and lockdowns came and went, more and more people took to the trails. I’ve become part of the morning community of Crothers people and know most of the dogs by name: Roxie, Bamboo, Friday, Blossom, Cash, Pluto, Steve. Since then, we’ve visited countless times - on steamy summer nights at sunset, and during deepest, darkest winter, when I wear metal spikes on my boots to avoid slipping. It was positively magical, a word I’ve since heard many other dog people use to describe this 52-hectare (128-acre) urban forest, which is a rehabilitated landfill and industrial site. That first day, we wandered over a bridge as the Don River sparkled below, roamed the trails, took in skyline views, watched woodpeckers flit through the trees and met a few other friendly dog owners. That’s how Ferris and I found Crothers Woods - a set of winding paths through a vast wooded area in the Don Valley, smack in the centre of Canada’s largest city. I followed her directions, intimidating as they were, but they made sense once I saw the terrain. Walk down the hill, follow the path to the left, then the right, then cross over the railway tracks and go over the bridge. “There’s a sign that says the road’s closed, but it’s not. “Go to the bottom of Beechwood,” she confided (I’m paraphrasing I can’t remember her exact words). On yet another leashed walk through my downtown neighbourhood, a woman with a blind dog named Riley told me a secret. I wandered through a hydro corridor in Scarborough and let him play in an otherwise abandoned ball diamond. I sought out whatever green spaces I could use to tire him out. I had an energetic seven-month-old puppy at home - and he needed to run. At the time, no one quite understood how COVID-19 spread, but it was clear there was a risk whenever people congregated. In March 2020, as the world attempted to find the best measures to contain an unprecedented pandemic, Toronto closed all 70 of its dog parks.
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