Approaching a new year often invites reflection. Today, my thoughts turn to a trail I walked a lot this past year—the steady wander and short climb to Lac Brown lookout.
The path begins at P17, winding through the north end of Gatineau Park for a few woodsy, enclosed kilometers.
Then comes the spot where the trail opens up. Every time, I stop in my tracks. Layers of texture and color, light so intentional it feels like a greeting: You are here, the light says. Take a moment. Breathe.
Continuing on, birds flit past. A fresh pile of bear scat reminds me I’m not alone. A turn here, another there and eventually, the junction appears—a wee right, a climb that demands your legs—and then: the lookout. I know this soft place. I find “my” bench, a simple wooden structure, and settle in.
With tea in hand, the view unfolds. It isn’t vast or ego-driven like some mountainous panoramas, but enough to make me linger every time.
Below lies Lac Brown, a kettle lake—a remnant of glacial movement, carved over eons by ice and time. Beyond it, the hills roll away in serene, green waves. Although a guest, I belong here and am deeply grateful for the open invitation.
This morning, during yoga practice, that bench came to visit me. I reflect on the path—not just pine needles and dirt, but the roots and rocks that led me there. Over the past year, I walked that route with a struggling friend or two, shed my own heavy state, sought answers, and released questions. Often, I just walked for the joy of it.
Looking back isn’t always longing for what was. Sometimes it’s about understanding the terrain we’ve crossed—the roots and rocks that shaped the past year—so we can walk forward with steadier steps into the next one.
From that bench, I look toward the horizon, unsure of what lies beyond the treeline, over the next hill. Yet the uncertainty isn’t unsettling; it’s steadying—a reminder we don’t need the whole picture to trust the path continues. Step by step is enough.👣
Wandering Wakefield 