Dragonflies and a Hard Lesson on Hwy 11
Grab your coffee - this is a long one!
It’s hard to believe that a year ago, Hannah and I were in Algonquin Park, taking one last pass along the highway in hopes of spotting a moose. We had booked our first tour with Follow Me North and enjoyed every single minute. While we didn’t see a moose, we left with so much more than we could have hoped for.
But today’s post is about two things: raising awareness about animal fatalities on highways, and reflecting on the meaning of dragonflies.
What many don’t know is that this trip didn’t start out well.
We had left early in the morning, choosing the back roads to avoid the 401 and 400. But once we hit Highway 11, I turned to Hannah and said, “This is just as bad as the 401!” The traffic was heavy, and most drivers were well over the speed limit. I tend to drive a little fast myself, but cars were flying past me like I was out for a Sunday drive.
As we neared Huntsville, I spotted a bear cub in the median. I said quietly “Stay there,” knowing, of course, it couldn’t hear me — but hoping the universe would somehow get the message across. The cub turned, and I began scanning for a way to avoid it. There was none: cars beside me, another behind. The cub paused — relief — and then it darted.
I braced. There was nowhere for me to go. The cub ran into the front end of the car.
I pulled over to the shoulder with my hazards on. Another car stopped as well. Hannah and I jumped out, but the traffic didn’t slow down, and we couldn’t safely get to the cub. It had already been struck again by a transport truck.
It was awful. I felt sick.
Hannah desperately wanted to move the cub off the road, to give it dignity, but the traffic was relentless. I called 911. The officer who arrived was kind and reassuring. She said the Ministry would be dispatched to remove the bear.
We were devastated.
We checked the vehicle. There was a dent in the front, but everything else was in working order. We sat in silence. I wanted to turn around and go home. But Hannah reminded me there was nothing we could’ve done. It had all happened so fast — and had we swerved, our outcome might’ve been worse.
Still, that didn’t bring us much comfort. We had booked this tour in the hopes of seeing a bear. This was not how we imagined our first encounter.
We chose to carry on. It was getting later than planned, so we adjusted our itinerary and headed straight to Booth’s Rock.
The drive was quiet.
We arrived at the trailhead, gathered our gear, took in a deep breath of fresh Algonquin air, and started out. And right at the trail entrance, I noticed them — a pair of dragonflies. I took my time photographing them, but this image stood out as my favourite from the set.
There was something about them — their stillness, their presence. After taking our photos, Hannah and I just stood there, quietly. We looked at each other and smiled. Still sad, still heavy-hearted — but we knew we were meant to be there. And we knew we were meant to enjoy this weekend, despite how it began.
I later came across a blog post about dragonflies, and it truly resonated with me. The writer shared this:
“Dragonflies can see in 360-degree angles — how cool is that? If you spot a dragonfly, it may be a call for you to open your eyes, look within yourself, and see beyond the obstacles or limitations before you.”
(full article under blog posts - https://www.theangelwriter.com)
They went on to say that a dragonfly’s visit might be a sign you’re about to enter, or need to enter, a period of transformation. It’s an invitation to ask yourself:
What emotions am I currently feeling that might be limiting my growth?
How can I explore these emotions with honesty and openness?
Am I being true to myself, or hiding something from others?
What do I need to release to move forward?
How can I look at this situation from a fresh perspective?
That message landed deeply. I knew those dragonflies were there for a reason.
We did open our eyes — just as the dragonfly's message encouraged. And that weekend with Jesse from Follow Me North helped us take the next step in our photographic journey. We immediately felt a connection with Jesse’s love for nature and his commitment to ethical wildlife photography.
I wish our weekend hadn’t started with the loss of a life. But I hope by sharing this story, it might help someone. Maybe even encourage a few more people to slow down on those long highways — especially through wilderness corridors.
When I returned home, I did some reading about wildlife corridors and safe passages across highways. I came across this article and petition:
https://www.blogto.com/.../ontario-build-highway-bridges.../
I’m still learning more and haven’t done extensive research, but at first glance, this looks like a thoughtful and promising initiative. If you'd like to learn more, I encourage you to check it out.
If you made it to the end — thank you for reading. I know this post was a heavy one. But sometimes, mindfulness means holding space for grief, compassion, and change.
Here’s to staying open, even when it’s hard.
And to the quiet moments — like standing with a dragonfly on a trail — that gently remind us to look inward, breathe deeply, and carry on.
With love and light,
Steph
