![]() ![]() I love not Man the less, but Nature more. "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, Take a moment while walking to listen and recenter, relax. The part I've found of greatest consolation is this excerpt: A beautiful poetic reading of George Gordon Byrons There is Pleasure in the Pathless Woods. (1) From the narrative poem, 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' by Lord Byron. For the fresh year ahead, instead of planning every step, let’s embrace squeaking some floorboards and remember that “There is pleasure in the pathless woods”. If 2020 has made anything clear it’s that life plans sit on top of some shaky foundations. The world decides it’s time to have a sticky beak into your life plans and asks the question that launches a thousand ships of existential dread, “What are you going to do for the rest of your life?”. During this time, the world revels in your infinite potential, leaving you giddy with the possibilities, but then you hit a turning point. Farm, log, hunt, gather tea, cook, make silk, defend yourself against marauders and more. Traverse the land and explore its mysteries. The years go by and you progress through school and into university. Pathless Woods is a sandbox game inspired by ancient China elements that features survival, exploration, construction, and farming. As babies, we have the easy job of being squishy, cute, and jumping some simple hurdles: walking, talking, and learning to not cover your little brother in baby oil and talcum powder for the giggles. Ron and Joanna leave only twice a year for supplies once before the freeze and once after the ice melts. The only way in or out is by float plane. To this day, my bones still remember how to tread across the hallway floorboards without making a single squeak.Īfter growing out of imagining vampires, the fear of not having a plan settled in. In a frostbitten valley in the deep bush of Northern Saskatchewan lives the most isolated couple in North America100 km away from the nearest unpaved road. My imagination had decided that vampires were lurking in the dark, and not the sparkling sort that would have boys and girls swooning come the twilight of the new millennium, but the classic demonic kind.įaced with these monsters, my six-year-old brain reasoned that the only way of surviving the round trip from my bedroom to the bathroom depended on my being pin drop silent. As a child, hearing the call of nature during the middle of the night felt life threatening. ![]()
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