We humans have not done very well at taking care of our earth. I'm glad that we're more conscious of the effects of our industry and living habits, but we have such a long ways to go.
I'm always encouraged by creation's resilience, and how, left alone, will slowly and inexorably reclaim mankind's harsh bootprints. You have only to let a garden go for a year or two - for blackberries and weeds will encroach - to see this effect.
Tod Inlet is such a place. Once a busy industrial port that shipped Portland cement all over the world, it's now a peaceful, quiet parkland. Remnants of the past remain, and will be evident for a long time, but in less than one hundred years their mark is already fading.
This photo, from the Butchart Garden archives, shows the area as it once was. The two tall chimney stacks, the wharf, houses for workers, and other buildings are mostly gone now. We enter Tod Inlet, by boat, from the top right of the photo and anchor on the left, out of view. It's quiet and protected, a beautiful and peaceful place.
The long cleared space in the middle of the photo is now the entrance road to the Gardens, and just to the top left of that space is where the Sunken Garden would be.
This one chimney is left, visible from the gardens themselves, and from the Inlet. There are a few foundations of old homes still evident. There is an archaeological project going on at Tod Inlet these days, uncovering more evidence of the lives once lived there.
These cement pilings remain, and I love to photograph them from all angles, from shore and from the water. When we anchor in Tod Inlet, I like to take the little dinghy out for a row and poke around along the shore, seeing what I can see.
When we were there a few weeks ago, I paddled fairly close to get this photo. The pilings are homes for mussels and perches for purple martin homes.