BACKSTORY

October 5, 2009

Again I find myself staring out the window at this forest, wondering where I am—it all seems strange and unbelievable, that I should be in Tasmania, on the other side of the world from Canada, from Toronto—

If I backtrack to the beginning of this adventure I’d have to say it started in a bookstore—Writers & Co on Yonge Street in Toronto, to be exact. I remember my first visit there and my half-disbelief at discovering what was on the shelves: poetry, essays, literary criticism, fiction, every kind of book I loved. After much browsing and arguing with myself I gathered an armload—spending more money at once than I ever had on books—and left, feeling giddy.

Of course I was drawn back—it was irresistible—and slowly I got to know the owner, Irene McGuire. I’d go there when I was tired and needed time out. Every visit I’d spend at least an hour looking through the new books and then comb the shelves. I’d always discover something I didn’t know about and had to have. An added pleasure was the conversation that wound through the browsing. Irene and I became friends, In 1993 when A Possible Landscape was published, Irene invited me to launch it at the Writers & Co.

Not long afterwards I dropped into the store early one morning—a book I’d ordered had arrived—and told Irene I’d decided to leave my job at the University of Toronto Library. I wanted more time to write and was both gleeful and terrified. Irene looked at me and said: “Would you like to work here on Mondays?” That offer felt like a sign from the gods—my decision was right. And yes, I did want to work there on Mondays.

But what does any of this have to do with Tasmania, you’re asking, perhaps yawning slightly, distracted by the wind blowing outside or the mutter of traffic along your street … Well, in the late 1990s Irene gave up the store and moved to Hobart, her husband’s home town. Our friendship continued by letter, and through their intermittent visits to North America. I never imagined going to Tasmania—it was simply too far away and too expensive. Then, in 2005 my second book was nominated for the Trillium Book Award for Poetry. Someone asked what I’d do if I won and I heard myself say “I’ll go to Tasmania to visit Irene!” I won the Award …

But there’s another twist.to my arriving here— Through Irene I’d learned of the WildCare Tasmania Nature Writing Contest. For some years I’d been working on an essay about Toronto’s Don River. The contest prize—a trip to Tasmania with a two-week residency in a national park seemed reason enough to finish that essay. But I’m a slow and somewhat reluctant writer and I missed the 2007 deadline. The essay languished until last February. Since I’d decided 2009 was my year to get to Tassie—and if I won the contest I could extend my stay—I settled to the writing. To my great surprise and shrieking delight my essay was awarded the Prize—

And the rest, as they say, is history. I’m really here in this glorious forest. And it’s not just a naturalist’s imagined place, backdrop for a painting of an exotic bird or flower, but actual. Not magic, but material, specific, full of particulars, even if I can’t sort them into familiarity.

Except perhaps for the currawong, with it’s swooping flight, large presence, and bright yellow eye examining me closely.