They say cemeteries are cities of the dead, but Beechwood Cemetery in Ottawa is very much alive – and I don’t just mean with memories of the dearly departed.
Beechwood is Canada’s national cemetery, a tidy collection of Prime Ministers, poets, police officers, and more. However, there’s life here too, wild, untamed life in the thousands, all thanks to a memorial garden area and a small marsh. It’s this urban Ottawa wetland that makes Beechwood just as much a place for the living as it is for the dead.
I start my annual spring pilgrimage to the marsh by popping into Donna’s tiny neighbourhood café along the way. As always, I marvel at how many people can find a seat in such a small spot. It’s tempting to scrounge up a chair and join them.
I tear myself away from the seats and a delicious-looking shelf of gourmet pantry items, ignoring the preserves and locally produced pickles, in favour of ordering a very patriotic maple-infused iced latte. At the last minute, I grab one of their signature treats — a handmade vegan pop-tart pastry, filled with sweet raspberry jam — to fuel my trek.
I’m certainly not the only one who enjoys exploring Beechwood. The property is beloved by joggers, dog walkers, and hikers. Ottawa has a bit of a reputation as a buttoned-up government town, the kind of place that invites policy meetings and sensible museums, not a ramble through a bone yard.
But when I’m at Beechwood, I feel like I’m among fellow locals who know otherwise, the kind of people who know that the city is just full of cosy corners like this, quirky Ottawa spots that are aching to be explored.
Today, I’m sharing the paths with a few serious-looking runners, a couple of leisurely strollers admiring the tulip beds, and plenty of sauntering dog walkers. I pause to sip my coffee and chat with a white ball of fluff named Clementine and her owner, both happily watching the soft apple blossoms that float down in the breeze. We could easily be in a botanical garden, if it weren’t for all the headstones.
I stumbled upon the marsh myself several years earlier while I was on a different kind of quest. I was hunting for Beechwood’s spy cemetery, reportedly the only one of its kind in the world.
This section of the graveyard, dedicated to those who have served in Canada’s intelligence services, is a relatively new addition to Beechwood. While it is disappointingly neither ominous nor melancholy, it does afford a good view of the surrounding paths branching away from it.
Of course, I had to find out what was just around the corner. The answer was the Macoun Marsh.
The Macoun Marsh honours naturalist John Macoun (yes, he’s buried at Beechwood). On some cemetery maps, the marsh is incorrectly labelled as a “sacred space” – but based on its bounteous nature, maybe that’s not really a mistake.
Nearly 1,400 species have been recorded here, a statistic courtesy of nearby schools whose students share in the stewardship of the marsh. On this early spring visit, red-winged blackbirds are abundant.
I spot a chipmunk and hear plenty of frogs among the rustles of the reeds. I thankfully spot a Canada goose before he spots me, and resolve to give this temperamental bird the wide berth he deserves. However, the marsh’s more flashy residents (like blue herons) elude me.
I pause inside the students’ pavilion for a few minutes, retying my shoes and gazing at the artwork decorating the rafters. I’m a tiny bit disappointed that this particular visit didn’t turn out to be more exciting. And then I see it.
A clump of mud and grass is tucked among the eaves, a clump with two fuzzy heads in it. A nest! Before long, the builder herself soon returns. A robin lands nearby, her beak full of wriggling worms. She watches me, and I watch her.
Forget the Canada goose. I know better than to get in the way of a mamma bird. I slowly take a few steps away, inching towards the path which will take me back to the tulips, the notable names carved in granite, the tidy rows.
Confident in my departure, the robin continues on her path, neatly swooping into an opening in the rafters and delivering dinner to the tiny living souls within. In this city for the dead, new life is chirping away.
