Wild at Heart: The Ravines Offering Escape in Toronto’s Core
Text: Haley Hatch-Dinel / Images: Haley Hatch-Dinel and Meghan Davidson Ladly
“I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.” My mother agreed, as together we entered into the spiraling ravine from Roxborough St. We were awestruck with the solitude, the vibrant green foliage, the bubbling water—the beauty and serenity of it all. I loved that we were sharing this secret adventurous land just below the city surface.
When you walk down the steps into the Balfour ravine you are instantly transported to unbridled nature underneath all the overpasses. It’s a fully immersive experience that forces you to be present. You observe every leaf and pebble intensely, because it is so opposite to the concrete jungle above.
Moreover, the people you see are doing the same as you—taking it all in. Some have dogs, others have children, and some even take their bikes. But there is still a sense of collective enjoyment in this shared space. Each of us seeks our own personal solace from the congestion and confusion above. We find company in one another, all of us present but purposefully apart. Ironic, that such a place of congregation—known to house everything from private school parties to homeless communities—is now full of humans together in their aloneness. We walk the trails to be alone but also, of course, to find our kin.
IRONIC, THAT SUCH A PLACE OF CONGREGATION—KNOWN TO HOUSE EVERYTHING FROM PRIVATE SCHOOL PARTIES TO HOMELESS COMMUNITIES—IS NOW FULL OF HUMANS TOGETHER IN THEIR ALONENESS. WE WALK THE TRAILS TO BE ALONE BUT ALSO, OF COURSE, TO FIND OUR KIN.
Having grown-up in Toronto—and with a parent who had done the same—I was always aware of the ravine system, but rarely took advantage. To a child it is most accessible in the summer, and I was usually up at the cottage or in various camps. The public parks I played in the rest of the year—Mooredale, Cedervale, Sir Winston Churchill, etc. were on the fringe of this system, however, hinting at the expansive network running beneath. The city then was the bustling place I went to school and saw friends, the lawns manicured and the landscape precisely sculpted. Wilderness was outside the city limits, where there was no one around.
As an adult, I have a far greater appreciation for the need to eschew the city, especially in the summer. But Covid-19 required all of us to stand still, to adapt to a less itinerant life. This stasis spawned a rediscovery of the city parks and trails that my friends and family and I had collectively forgotten (read ignored).
A common refrain I’d overhear is: who knew this was all right here? I said the same—how come we weren’t walking through here this whole time? My mother replied that the trees were much shorter here 30 years ago. For her, it wasn’t as interesting as it is now. The forests have grown up.
But not all this growth is welcome. Both the Norwegian Maple and Japanese Knotweed are examples of invasive species, beautiful to human eyes but deadly to the local flora and fauna. The city is at a conservational crossroads. While Toronto has made great efforts to clean its polluted waterways, the modus operandi of letting nature take its course in the ravines has allowed this invasive growth. Whereas these species accounted for 10 percent of the ravine growth in 1977, as of 2017 they were 40 percent.
Over 12,000 years ago, a receding glacier deposited sediment that today forms this system of forested valleys and subsequent watersheds. Six watersheds feed the city and its green spaces. These ravines together measure thirty times greater than New York’s Central Park. They are networks University of Toronto professor in urban forestry Sandy M. Smith calls “green veins of the city”. These ravines are a source of city biodiversity, and yet they are slipping into decay. Their path defines our city. Is it enough to be present? Is it enough to only use them as an escape?
My existential exploration this past year had a knock-on effect. My mum shared with me, I showed my girlfriend, my friends, my students, and even expounded their virtues to strangers. It is a unique Toronto experience. In a time where we all felt disconnected, this system of creeks and valleys brought us closer together as a city.
The ravine system in its entirety covers around 17 percent of Toronto. Perhaps the renewed interest and use of the ravines during the pandemic will encourage newcomers like myself to be more involved in its conservation. As much as they have been a refuge, I don’t want to just trudge through solely for escapism. I’d rather intentionally intervene to maintain the biodiversity. I don’t want to risk loosing the horticultural oasis just steps from my front door.