The Beginning
Kenji was smiling and so was I. We had come home.
Eramosa Eden
by Valerie Bannert
Introduction:
People often ask how it all happened and why and when, etc. Here’s how it all began.
Eramosa Eden Retreat Centre grew out of an International Ecumenical Community in Toronto. Mary Ellen Nettle and I lived in that community prior to moving to the Rockwood area to develop the centre.
Eramosa Eden is an ecumenical retreat located on the Eramosa River near Eden Mills in the Guelph area. By its nature, being eleven acres of woods bordered by the river, it lends itself to retreat. It is a place of solitude and quiet, for slowing down and resting, communing with nature, oneself, and God.
Eramosa Eden is based on the belief that there is a strong relationship between spirituality and justice. It is a place for reflection and prayer, where healing can happen. It is a place for the nurturing of people of all faiths and backgrounds.
Many people from near and far come to Eramosa Eden at all times of the year. Many of The Rockwood Crones are frequent visitors.
A Promise Kept:The Finding of Eramosa Eden
I made a decision on March 25, 1981 while returning to Toronto from Brown County, Indiana. My dog, Kenji, and I sat in the back seat of the Jolly Green Giant, the community Volkswagen van. Mary Ellen, Sidney Pratt and Sister Brenda Duncombe dozed and chatted as we sang oldies such as Brenda’s request for “Today” and a couple of Sydney’s favourites, “When I’m Sixty-Four” and, “Still Crazy”. Mary Ellen came up with something quite out of character, “Blue Moon”. There was my usual contribution of “Red River Valley” and “Place in the Sun”. I was thinking of a song I used to sing but couldn’t remember too well called “Changes”. It came to my mind because I could feel, in a very definite way, that there would be changes in my life, and soon.
I decided to move my plans forward a year and find that place in the sun: a country location for a future retreat house. We had just spent the March Break visiting Mimi, Sydney’s sister, who lived in a cabin in the woods and commuted to work every day. It had been a totally great week. I was as enthusiastic about everything as was my pup, Kenji the Pooh. We played in the woods finding geodes in the riverbed, marvelling at the trees and the flowers, which were more advanced in their new spring life than in Ontario. And oh! The birds, the glorious singing and arguing about where to build their nest or who would mate with whom and when or whatever it is the birds get so noisy about in spring.
Then there was the experience of Mimi’s cabin. And ‘experience’ is the appropriate word because it was so much more than just seeing. You ‘felt’ it! There was a loft with bunk beds, a great massive, stone fireplace, souvenirs from the outdoors brought in to prolong the appreciation of the driftwoods, rocks, old bird nests and more.
My yearnings surfaced and had a compelling influence on me. I planned to buy a house, improve it, save, save, save, and then sell, sell, sell, in five years and move to a ‘Mimi-place’. It would not only be for myself but a special dwelling that I could share with others who needed the country in their lives. As I said earlier, the plan was changed. It was not next year, but now.
My journal has this entry:
Saturday, April 4, 1981
The last two weeks have been exciting for me as I read about the properties for sale. It has to be near enough for me to commute to St. Sebastian’s School in Toronto’s west end. The cottage country to the north and to the east is not suitable. Too much traffic, too expensive, too many people vacation bound.
The area around Terra Cotta might prove interesting. There’s a river; water is a must.
Today is my first free day to go out and find her. I believe that I have been made a promise. And I believe that considering the Source, it is a promise that will be kept.
It is eight a.m. I’ve packed a lunch for Kenji and me and we’re off to the west. It’s a feeling akin to preparing to go fishing with mom and dad. You wonder not if you will catch any fish, but how many and how big.
In high spirits and with high expectancy, we headed for the Terra Cotta countryside. We drove the back roads, the side roads and even the main roads. Nothing. Nothing even close. I knew what I was looking for. I knew that I would know it when I saw it.
It was late afternoon. My spirits lagged. The thought occurred to me to drive to my favourite area, Eden Mills and Rockwood. We were not too far, and we could sit in the woods and finish our lunch before returning to the city.
We turned off the Guelph line and onto Indian Trail where we parked in the Spirit Valley Farm driveway. We walked a bit into the woods, shared the rest of the lunch and then I turned the car around to leave. Where, oh where, is the promise? What has happened to the promise?
When I nosed onto Indian Trail, I hesitated. I had been out this way so many times before yet had never crossed that little bridge. I thought I’d drive over it and turn around to head back.
I stopped on the bridge, more like I was stopped on the bridge. Something simply grabbed me. There is no other way to explain it. I looked up the river at the tiny island lush with cedars and down the river at the water lapping and dancing in silver glory.
My heart was singing, half in sadness and half in total awe. I don’t know if I said it aloud or just in my depths but it was, “Oh God, there must be some place here for me!” Then I corrected myself. I remember it so clearly, “No, not just for me but for others”.
I drove over the bridge and there was the ‘For Sale’ sign. We drove to the gate. Ignoring threatening signs, we crawled through the fence and followed what once had been a driveway that lead to a building just slightly visible through the dense growth of trees. An old log bungalow came into view. We ran around to the back and found a terrace that sloped down to the gentle Eramosa River. Kenji sprang to life and raced back and forth on the lawn, into the river, back to the lawn as if getting my consent, claiming territory. He was smiling and so was I.
We had come home. The rest is history. The promise was kept.
Through the years as I continue to delight in Eramosa Eden, I often ask, “Okay God, what did I do to deserve this?” I always rejoice in the very firm response, “Nothing, nothing at all. It is simply my gift.”
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