Eliguk Journal – April 14, 2025.

Reflection - Part Three:

The Mysterious Dance of Fate

Fate is like an enchanting dance, a rhythmic interplay of events that beautifully converge at the right moment. The essence of this mysterious dance lies in the belief that certain people are meant to cross paths for a reason. These encounters can invoke a feeling of familiarity, understanding, and an inexplicable connection that hints at a shared past or a deeper bond.

Divine timing is the concept that everything happens in its own time, often in ways we cannot foresee. In the realm of soulmate connections, divine timing suggests that the universe has a plan for when and how these encounters will unfold. Many believe that we may not be ready for our soulmates when we first yearn for them; instead, the universe ensures that we grow, learn, and evolve before crossing paths with our destined partners. This journey of self-discovery allows us to become individuals capable of nurturing and embracing the love we seek.

Despite our first marriages ending dramatically (think epic sitcom breakups with the longest four-year money-draining court battle one could fathom), we managed to stumble across each other amid the rocky relationships, glued together through the chaos of separation.

The first time looked like this:

I was working the night shift as a line cook in the E.B. Eddy Pulp & Paper Mill cafeteria in Espanola (you know, the photo of the Mill from part one of this story). It was just another sweltering summer night when I encountered Aron for the first time. There I was, a 22-year-old sweating over a grill in an oversized white apron entirely wrapped around me twice, with a work-issued hairnet resembling a granny knit wig cap stuck tightly to my head. When this guy sauntered in, it was like he owned the place - his hair an architectural masterpiece defying gravity and logic (even after taking his hard hat off), framing his angular jaw and intense gaze with a swagger that could charm the devil himself. To be fair, most of the guys at the mill wore the standard summer attire of torn T-shirts and worn jeans, but Aron stepped it up with an extra dose of confidence in snug-fitting jeans with rips in all the right places. I couldn’t help but notice his steel-toed boots were unlaced, which somehow added to the whole "bad boy" vibe he was rocking. He ran his fingers through his perfect hair, reminiscent of Ace Ventura, making me feel as glamorous as a soggy pancake wrapped up in my limp apron. And then he opened his mouth. The very second he spoke, I summed up his personality in one word - Jackass!

"I'll take that, and that...and one of those," he said, pointing at the prepped food behind the glass like a noble ordering grub from a peasant street vendor. Not once making eye contact with me, I hastily piled his selections on a tray as he snatched it up, “…and put it on my tab!" With that, he strolled out, leaving me flustered and embarrassed for letting him go without signing the standard meal ticket receipt. “Wait, what’s your name?” I shouted after him, my cheeks as hot as the bubbling pies I had just taken out of the oven. As if his audacity in assuming I knew who he was wasn’t enough, my boss whipped around the corner, clearly alarmed by my outburst. She had been doing late-night paperwork and rushed in as if I’d just announced a fire drill. I spilled my guts about the guy who had just left with a free meal - the hair, the swagger, the oh-so-fitting jeans and unlaced boots with a cocky attitude. You could almost hear the 'ding' as her eyes widened. She fanned her face with the paperwork still clutched in her hand, taking a deep breath, clearly enamored with the man. Exhaling, she said, "That, my dear, is Aron Toland,” as if she'd just decoded an ancient prophecy written in the stars. She added, "Don't worry, honey; all the Stationary Engineers have that attitude. " Wonderful, I thought, as I deflected her intense, cougar-like prowess with a roll of my eyes. Just what I needed - an arrogant Jackass who was also apparently a local legend. Someone I managed to avoid - until I couldn't.

 

Months later, in the early Spring of 1993, I got my truck stuck in my muddy driveway. I lived just off of Lee Valley Rd. My neighbor said they knew someone who could get me out in a jiffy, and called his friend who lived a few miles down the road. Moments later, THE truck I had fallen in love with time and time again, as I'd heard its 440 magnum engine purr, as it cruised up and down Lee Valley road, the low, throaty growl, irresistible and commanding attention. The sound smooth, yet primal, like velvet wrapped around steel, resonating through the air with an almost alive rhythm. I had never paid attention to who was driving it, as I was always looking at the truck. I knew whoever built the engine was someone with a true gift.

The man who leapt out of the truck, bursting with excitement to rescue a damsel- or in this case, my truck- from the clutches of mud was none other than Aron Toland. Naturally, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm and shock. "It's you!" I pointed, shouting like I had just spotted Colonel Mustard red-handed in the conservatory with a lead pipe. "What?" Aron chuckled, a grin spreading across his face.

As I plunged into memory lane and confronted him about that fateful night at the mill's cafeteria, he swore he had no recollection of our rendezvous. Bless his heart, he even apologized for coming off like a total jerk. When the new cafeteria opened at the mill (the same time I was hired), the new operators had pulled the rug out from under him by canceling all the meal tickets he had accumulated over the years.

You see, meal tickets were a bonus for those who worked over 12 hours, as they couldn't go home to pack an extra meal. One thing Aron never shied away from was an overtime shift- his enthusiasm for extra hours was almost commendable. He claimed it seriously warped his view of the place. Fresh off a night shift at 9am, knowing he had drunk coffee all night to stay awake, I offered him a celebratory beer after he heroically yanked my truck from the mud pit. What better way to end a rescue mission?

After sitting down face to face (without the tight hairnet and line-cook attire), we realized how much we had in common (mainly trucks), and we instantly started doing things like finishing each other's sentences. Even though we were in relationships, we became fast best friends. We somehow ended up with spouses with whom we had nothing in common. Since I had such a lust for 4x4s, Aron helped me find one less likely to get stuck in the mud. Then I followed him to the race track because lo and behold, he was also the founder and President of NOORA - Northern Ontario's Off-Road Racing Association!

Our relationships took an unexpected turn over the next six months, and despite spending more time together, something magical was unfolding. We frequently attended events—mud bogs, grass drags, and thrilling excursions with fellow 4x4 enthusiasts. One day, while exploring the aisles of a Napa Auto Parts store for accessories for my truck, an unseen observer was captivated by our dynamic. Amid laughter and an electrifying energy that seemed to fill the space, we were blissfully unaware of our impact on those around us. It wasn't until the parts guy, a familiar face behind the counter, asked with a curious smile, "What's with you guys?" that we paused to reflect.

"What do you mean?" we queried, surprised.

With a twinkle in his eye, he replied, "Every time I see you two together, it’s like you’re a foot off the ground!" In that moment, Aron and I exchanged knowing glances, and the veil we had placed over our feelings began to lift. We recognized that we had been resisting a powerful connection - an undeniable magnetism that drew us together, fueled by the very essence of who we were. Our hearts realized an irresistible need to be together, a magnetic pull we had been blind to for far too long.

We admitted that our strong connection held a power capable of igniting the very cosmos. The boundaries we set were not shackles but sacred lines drawn to protect the fierce intensity brewing within us. We knew that, should we dare to cross them, we would unleash a magnificent tempest that would tear the fabric of our reality. This exhilarating and terrifying potential reminded us of the raw energy we wielded. And in that awareness, we held the spark of greatness, ready to either illuminate the darkest nights or set the skies ablaze. The mysterious dance of fate and soul mate had revealed itself.

Fast-forward through our challenges in trying to find the path to happy-ever-after. We had strength in love despite being penniless after years in court. Determinedly, we focused on breeding back the non-existent livestock on the Toland farm, transforming it into a thriving oasis stocked with cattle. The year before Aron’s father passed away at 82, our efforts bore many calves, proving that love and hard work can create something beautiful from adversity. And from that old farmhouse window, Aron's parents sat and watched the cattle graze the vast open pastures under the Toland mountain once more.

Then, in the shimmering haze of September 1996, we exchanged vows amidst the echoes of history in the valley's embrace. The Toland barn became a sanctuary of love and defiance, its rustic charm transformed by bales of hay that replaced the traditional pews. Radiant maple leaves framed our path, their fiery hues a poignant reminder of life’s inevitable transformations. It was a fairy tale unfolding on a farm, one that we might still cherish if only our exes had allowed destiny to run its course. Instead, we fled to the country's farthest reaches, escaping the suffocating grip of toxic shadows that threatened to consume us and everyone we held dear.

We traded in our cowboy hats and sprawling ranchland for the bustling chaos of Kelowna, British Columbia, exactly a year after saying "I do." While the Toland farm was handed down to a nephew of Aron's, it was at least kept in the family. Twenty years rolled by in the blink of an eye as we transformed from free-spirited ranchers to well-oiled city slickers, mastering the art of dodging traffic and sipping lattes with a side of hustle. Our wild farm days became distant memories, and instead of wrangling cattle, I was running a golf course, meeting deadlines, and Aron was fixing every make of automobile from our Automotive shop. While we missed the wide-open skies, we also learned to embrace the thrill of urban living.

You all know the story from here; (click this link if you don't) eventually, you must unleash the wild and untamed by letting go. Deep down, our spirits were never content with the caged feeling of city life. As we embrace this journey, we realize that the dance of fate guides us through the unpredictable rhythms of life. In surrendering to this mysterious dance of fate, we discover our true selves and the freedom we long for, trusting that each twist weaves purpose into our lives. Over the last 30 years, we've stood the test of time, but the barn? Not so much!