O so long ago, when I first got here, I was gobsmacked.
The ocean! The beaches! The mountains!
Of course, when you’ve escaped Toronto, where it’s the lake and “the Beaches” and that’s about it, it’s like coming to Valhalla. In fact, Howe Sound might actually be Valhalla. If I were a Viking, I’d be cool with that.
But over the years, I’ve collected a little sack of treasures that have come to mean as much, if not more, than having Grouse Mountain in my backyard.
I’m sure you have your own secret places you’d never find driving around. In fact, about the only thing you find driving around is other people driving around aka: traffic.
Of course, the North Shore is all about trails. We could put out a sign: “Urban Forest Trail Capital of the World”; and who would argue? But I’m not talking about the famous tracks like Capilano Pacific or Varley Trail. I’ve acquired a soft spot for obscure pathways that start nowhere special and end nowhere special, but charm the lucky explorer along the way.
Mine include the many nameless trails along streams that nobody ever sees: Mosquito Creek, Mackay Creek – tucked away in greenbelts where you encounter mainly dog walkers, and occasionally a bear in transit. Hopefully in transit.
Zoom in even closer. There’s a charming little wooden bridge that connects the cul-de-sac at the end of Sunnycrest Drive in Cap Highlands to Mosquito Creek trail. For a long time, the dog and I had to slide down the bank to get to the trail proper. And then one day, like a miracle, some thoughtful trail planner from the District (I think), built this perfect little bridge. Just for me!
But my favourite secret spot isn’t really all that secret. Thousands of people see it every morning as they crawl up the cloverleaf to the Lions Gate Bridge. You can’t see much of it from the car, of course, but what you can see is charming … or goofy, depending on how you look at these things. Odd little things – ornamental bicycles, garden gnomes, flower pots, dolls and driftwood – decorate the roadside.
I’m sure that most of the time, as we inch our way onto that damned bridge, we dismiss it all as the work of a community gardening cult with too much time on its hands.
You wouldn’t be too far wrong. It’s the handiwork of one guy, 70+ kitsch placement specialist Matt Aiston, who with his wheelbarrow, pitchfork and imagination, has created a garden of earthly delights that very few appreciate in its fullness.
Frustrated commuters who fume by never see the real depth of Aiston’s creative genius. I didn’t either until I started riding my bike through the path that starts at the end of Klahanie Court (past Earl’s parking lot) and runs around the cloverleaf, under Marine Drive and back up onto the West Van side of the bridge.
It’s a plastic, alabaster, floral zoo in there! Aiston, a resident of Klahanie Court, has quietly built a vast preserve of garden Bambis and Thumpers, songbirds, flower beds, mirrors, hanging things, decorative signs and various tchotchkes that defy description. The whole thing runs through the wooded footpath from Klahanie Court and then spreads in both directions alongside the cloverleaf, inching a little farther out each year.
As Donald Trump would say, it’s yuge!
You can often spot Aiston himself, merrily tending to his … what? Garden? It’s more than a garden. It’s an installation! It’s a statement! A blow against vacancy! An inclination to elaborate! Who knows?
At one point I stopped and chatted with Matt to find out. Post-chat, I’m not sure I’m any wiser, but Matt turns out to be exactly the kind of guy who would indulge in an all-encompassing labour of love without stooping to analysis.
He does it for free. He does it in spite of the neuropathy in his legs, which will stop him from doing it one day. He does it even though he knows that he is at best tolerated by the various jurisdictions – and there are a bunch of them – responsible for the approach to Lions Gate Bridge. (It wouldn’t hurt though, if they bought him some flowers or dirt.) He does it knowing that after him, that’s all folks. There’s no apprentice gnome to keep it going once he’s gone.
In the meantime, the Lone Gardener continues without recognition or complaint to build a thing of secret, fragile beauty. It’s the least I can do to love it.
So that’s mine. What’s yours?
Journalist and communications consultant Paul Sullivan has been a North Vancouver resident since the fall of the Berlin Wall and the rise of Madonna. He can be reached via email at [email protected].
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