A Meeting On The Bruce Trail
I met a Chinese couple while I was hiking on Bruce Trail. They were old enough to be grandparents, gray hair accenting their temples, but they had young faces and calm eyes, full of life. I stood with my back to them, gazing into a valley spread with trees and a golden-orange carpet of leaves, when the man walked over to speak to me. His wife remained sitting patiently a few yards off the path.
“Where is Tiffany Falls?” he asked. I did not know. He told me proudly that they had hiked four kilometers, out of the valley, to sit on that log and eat their lunch. He produced a map from his pocket and explained to me that the falls were back the way I had come.
I told myself that they ought to be able to enjoy their hike in peace, and left. I chased the rumble of the falls off the trail, across private property. I ended up on the wrong side, too far up river. I could hear, but not see, the water rushing to meet the rocks.
Forced to retrace my steps, I headed back down the trail, then along the road to a parking lot with signs pointing the way to Tiffany Falls. As I started down the new trail, I saw the Chinese couple again, this time walking towards me. We stopped and greeted each other. They told me that the falls were beautiful. I told them I had wandered into the wilderness for a while, and then, laughing, we parted.
They remind me of my own grandparents. Only they were an American couple in China, and Nana would be the one chatting to a young Chinese man lost in the woods, Papa smiling patiently behind her.
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