Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)

Posted on January 14, 2026 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with 6 comments

 

Pete and Len with Big Lonely Doug

(Pete MacDonald photo)

 

Two weeks.

Are your New Year’s resolutions already in tatters?

I’m not a big fan of resolutions except when I am. This year, I’m all in. I have a list of eleven things that will get my undivided attention. A friend of mind said that I was an “overachiever”. I told her that I had a lot of things to clean up.

I’m not a huge fan of trite expressions. These are the classics that lack originality or freshness and are dull on account of overuse. Merry Christmas; Happy Birthday; Happy Thanksgiving; Happy Easter.

So it was, that I entered Canada Post a few days into the new year. I approached the counter and instead of using one of said trite expressions, I said, “I hope the year ahead is a good one for you.” Without skipping a beat the clerk replied, “It’s another chance to get it right.”(Thanks, S.B.)

Small achievable goals. While I don’t care much for the “Happy New Year’s” chant, I am a big believer in setting goals. This doesn’t necessarily have to happen at the beginning of a new year, but it is as good a time as any to hit the reset button. I have always believed that writing down my goals gives me the best chance of achieving them.

After cogitating on my goals, I typed them out, printed them and put the list in the most obvious place in the house: the fridge, that “go to” place when all else fails. This is not about shaming. It’s a mild form of accountability.

You often hear professional athletes talking about “sticking with the process”. New Year’s resolutions are no different. If all we can think about is losing those nasty pounds that we put on over the past year, then failure is almost assured. If we eat right and exercise, then time will take care of the rest.

Enough pontificating.

I spent the Christmas holidays outside of Victoria with my son. We had long walks, long talks, and many pleasant dinners. On the final day of 2025, we took a tour up the west coast of Vancouver Island. This part of the island is notorious in winter for its rainfall. We lucked out. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the temperature was around 10. We sat on a massive log, a piece of driftwood on Port Renfrew beach, and had lunch.

Our last stop of the day was meant as a surprise. Pete told me that a short 15-minute drive up an old logging road would take us to an iconic site. We had barely started our ascent up the mountain when it was obvious that the road had suffered damage. Serious damage. The road was inundated with huge potholes. The going was slow. For someone with a bad back, it was a bone jarring drive. As we neared the top, there were two vehicles parked on the side of the road. The remainder of the road was impassable. The last stretch of our journey would be on foot. A full hour had elapsed. It was obvious that the road had deteriorated greatly since my son’s last visit.

Many years ago, foresters had clearcut this part of the mountain. They left one tree – a thousand-year-old (some estimates say it is 1200 years old), majestic Douglas Fir. I could see it standing stately no more than 75 yards away. If I thought that the road up the side of the mountain was challenging, the last 75 yards to reach our destination was double or triple that. For spry young people, the slippery, uneven terrain, is a walk in the park. For a senior who had recently broken his arm in a perfectly dry parking lot, this was my definition of hell. I am reluctant to use the term terrifying, but it was unsettling and nerve-wracking. Slightly terrifying.

There were two other groups paying homage to Big Lonely Doug. We patiently waited for our turn until we had unfettered access to Doug. After spending time pondering the imponderable, we drove back to Pete’s home in Metchosin. My back hated me, but I felt so inspired that I wrote this poem as a tribute to Doug:

DOUG

 

My name is Doug and I’m a tree,

I’ve been kicking around for a while,

I reside in a forest near Renfrew, B.C.,

If you see me, I’ll make you smile.

 

Around the year 1000, I was just a tiny seedling,

When Erikson reached our shores,

My branches started needling,

Not far from the ocean’s roar.

 

I’ve seen a lot of history,

And sadly, many wars,

Humans are a mystery,

I want peace and nothing more.

 

For hundreds of years I stretched and grew,

As I reached up to the sky,

Every century, something new,

Things that caught my eye.

 

Through rain and snow and sun and sleet,

I groaned and creaked and swayed,

My fellow forest friends I’d meet,

From on high, I watched them play.

 

A Douglas fir is meant to last,

For centuries I am told,

My job as a tree, to stay steadfast,

To be solid, straight and bold.

 

But the clear cutters came, with saws and blades,

To bring us to our knees,

All at the cost of a profit made,

At the expense of my fellow trees.

 

For whatever reason, I don’t know,

They chose me to survive,

I was spared the fatal blow,

My will, to remain alive.

 

And now I sit here in the woods,

Away from the madding crowd,

Spending time with me is good,

I can nearly touch the clouds.

 

So come and take the rutted road,

Walk down the narrow path,

Embrace me and lighten your load,

Count my rings and do the math.

 

Be like Doug. Slow and steady.

It might not take you 1000 years to reach your true heights or achieve your goals.

But it will be worth the effort.

Best wishes in the year ahead.

… And check the fridge door!

 

 Tiny Tree

Tell me what you see?