At The Lake

Posted on by

During my trip to Ontario this past summer, I spent some time in cottage country at a place that is near and dear – a place I have visited since I was 8 months old – a long time. But I hadn’t been back for many years and it turned out to be something of a memory pilgrimage. I returned home with rekindled memories and a lot of new ones to sustain me.

My maternal grandparents bought the vacation property seventy years ago, in 1948. They were 50 years old at the time, living in Windsor, Ontario, the 3 youngest of their 7 children  still at home when, as the story goes, my grandmother saw an ad in the church newsletter for a property for sale in central Ontario, 10 miles from the town of Minden. In those days it would have been quite a hike to get there from Windsor, long before the days of Highway 401. The property was 150 acres with a private lake, frontage on two other lakes, extensive woodland, an old farmhouse and a few cabins. A little piece of paradise. The story also goes that when the deal went through they danced around their living room at home – happy, happy.

For the first 15 years of my life I spent every summer there, hanging out with my cousins and being co-parented by the Aunts. There were 15 cousins although not everybody came up regularly. Each family had their own cabin – in those early years there was no electricity, no running water, the heat came from wood stoves and night time was the time of kerosene lamps and Coleman lanterns. “Mrs. Murphy” was down the path, out back. My memories of those childhood days are for me, the happiest of times. We spent our days running around outside, swimming, rowing, sailing, building intricate cities in the sand on the beach, campfires on the point complete with marshmallows and songs, weekly horseback riding, a long walk to the local lakeside store after dinner for 5 cent cones and a small brown paper bag of penny candy. My cousins and I would spend hours on elaborate role playing games and once a summer, we’d put on plays, or carnivals and charge the parents to attend.

The Aunts would take turns making supper for the brood, or making heaps of sandwiches, watermelon and Kool Aid to deliver down to the beach for lunch. I guess we must have all sounded alike: if one of us would shout out up the bank “MOM!!”, you could count on 2 or 3 Aunts calling back in response. My Aunt Paulie always drove a big station wagon and would pile us all into the back for the trip along the dirt roads to town (what seatbelts?) where we’d go on a jaunt to the movies at the tiny Beaver Theatre. The Uncles would show up from the city from time to time.

Of course, there was drama going on all around us – still is. It’s a big family, after all. But those oblivious childhood days are so clear and happy in my own memories, a wonderful gift – oblivious is great.

Later, all grown up, I continued to go to the lake sporadically in my twenties, then more often as I brought my own children there. By then we young mothers had better equipped houses to stay in – no more hauling buckets of water or cooking on wood stoves and Coleman burners, as our mothers had done. But I hadn’t been back for a very long time – 20 years give or take. This summer I finally returned.

For 8 days this summer I walked the land, stared at the views, canoed around the shore, swam in the lake and feasted on the sights and memories. Me being me I was drawn into the forest – a different forest from the ones I’m used to now, filled with a mix of huge oaks, maples and my very favourite, birch. Every morning I spent hours in the woods walking the 150 acres, sometimes going to places I’d never been before.

I was astonished to find that the cabin my family stayed in when I was really little is still standing. Over 70 years old and appears to be balancing on a rock. It hasn’t changed a bit since the days I stayed in it way back when. No, I take that back. Twenty five years ago, or so, there was a major renovation. An extension cord was run down the bank from the big cottage providing electricity to the cabin and with it a refrigerator instead of an ice box and electric light at night. This may not be to code.

The lake is quiet – no motor boats allowed. The noisiest thing on the lake is the paddle boat – itself a relic I was surprised to see still there and still afloat. It has its own history, including the memorable incident that spawned the ‘duh’ rule – no more late night boat rides.

Not much else has changed. The family has protected the property intact. Aside from the old unchanged cottage, the other buildings have been replaced or renovated over the years, but the essence of the place remains the same. I hung around The Old House for awhile, peering into the windows. This was where I brought the kids and stayed with my mother for so many years – years that also saw visits by good friends, who also became family there. I’m not there anymore but the place remains with me still. As are the people who are no longer with us who inhabit that space of memory. The word love comes to mind.

The Old House – The cottage I used to stay in with my own kids when they were young

For the first time in 9 years I hung out with my brother, who lives in Korea but spends time every summer at the lake. I hadn’t seen him since I lived in Asia. I saw some of my cousins who were there at the time of my visit, most I hadn’t seen in a couple of decades. Some have settled and made their homes close by, one has winterized his cabin and since retirement lives there all year round, a lifelong dream of his. To my eyes everybody is exactly the same. The funny thing is how much some of us now physically resemble our ancestor relatives. This one looks like his father, that one looks like Grandma, this one looks like an Aunt, another resembles a cousin.

I looked at the smiles and heard the laughter and shared old memories and I can still see the little cousins in those faces even though we are in our 60’s now or heading in that direction. We may all “be” the same, but our bodies are all too human and there is no mistaking the passage of time as the organ recital discussions have already begun. Invariably conversations lead to this hip or that knee or this ailment or that illness, sharing the benefits of this vaporizer over that one, and the CBD capsules and salves for this ache or that pain. Time passes, we’re all just along for the ride. Some of us have become grandparents as our own children now have kids of their own – a new generation of little cousins starts to appear.

I look around at who is there and who is gone and a thought occurs to me. The thing is, we are The Elders in the family now. Good grief.

2 Brothers at The Lake – Mikey and Stevie 1988

Home Again to Another Big Smoke

Posted on by

I always knew my trip would be good, but it wasn’t – it was GREAT!

I’m back home after my epic pilgrimage to Ontario, an 18-day trip that covered 4 billion year-old rock in pre-Cambrian Shield country, an urban landscape accommodating over 6 million people, deciduous forests and included 8 days of gawking at the Most Beautiful Lake in the World. I reconnected with beloved old friends, a brother I hadn’t seen in 9 years and assorted cousins, some I hadn’t seen in 20 years give or take. I endured late planes, “lost” luggage and planes that never showed up at all. I slept in idyllic cabins, on couches, in airport hotels, and in a cottage with a view that pulled memories out of wherever memories live, deep in the soul. As well as these old found memories, new ones were created to sustain me.

When it was finally time to leave Ontario cottage country to drive to the airport to begin a long journey home, it was through a scene of Toronto traffic very similar to this:

I landed back to my now home town here in Qualicum Beach with its single traffic light and its locals complaining about all the traffic from the “summer people”. Ha!

Culture shock anyone?

When I was gone, it felt like months had passed. Now, 5 days after returning, I’m still in some kind of betwixt and between state, neither here nor there. Kelly advises me to live gently with the recovery, not to rush it. Good advice that. The first few days back I spent resting in the garden, regaining my strength, and looking at the garden transformed to its August blowsiness and playing with a camera lens. While I was gone the figs ripened on the tree that I’ve been waiting 4 or 5 years to fruit. Wouldn’t you know, I missed that harvest but still find a few left – some over-ripe now and (over) sweetened into fig newton territory. I watched sky divers floating over the little airport close by and took portraits of hummingbirds gorging on the flower nectar.

However idyllic it may have appeared in those first days back, all is not well in this little piece of paradise.

Once again, for the second summer in a row British Columbia is burning. (See last year’s post When the Moon Turns Orange). When I left 400 fires were burning. I return to nearly 600 and another declared state of emergency. From the plane window, coming home, I could see the blanket of smokey haze covering the entire mainland. Only the tops of the highest snow-covered mountains were visible and even then appeared reddish-pink through the haze.

By Sunday the smoke had descended upon us, over on Vancouver Island, as well. There are fires burning on the island to the north, although not in our immediate area, but heavy smoke from the mainland made its way across, so bad that we’ve closed all the windows, fired up the air purifier and for the most part stay inside, trying to avoid the watery eyes and scratchy throats of this dangerous air quality.

Forest Fire Smoke at Qualicum Beach

Although we’re lucky the fires are not in our immediate vicinity right now, the smoke from them is stretching across the Prairies as far as Winnipeg and down across Washington State (that has its own fire problems) and beyond. We have the dubious distinction of having the worst air quality on the planet at the moment and nothing is going to turn this particular tide but Mother Nature in the form of rain, which is nowhere in the current forecasts. The night before last, 30 more new fires were reported, most from lightning strikes and flights are being cancelled and disrupted in many parts of the province, even affecting the ability of fire fighting planes to take off in some areas.

As it is, for now at least, here in our part of Vancouver Island, we wait it out, believing that soon the winds will shift and clear up this thick smoke that blankets the town. I’m OK with staying in for awhile – I have hundreds of photographs to sort through, countless memories to absorb and probably a few tales to tell.

As I wish for rain for this beleaguered province.

Walk Gawk & Eat. Repeat

Posted on by

“What are you going to do there?”, I was asked about a trip I was planning to a mountain resort town. Well, to me, a successful trip to explore new places is all about walking, gawking and eating and I’ve been enjoying just that in spades this summer. The last item on that prescriptive list is there in reference to the fact that there very few good restaurants where we live, so travel is where to indulge that one.

Summer for me is road trip season – a time to expand the perimeter in small doses and to experience how varied and fabulous this part of the world is. I say small doses because I’ve found that I usually just don’t like to leave home for that long in summer, with the high maintenance garden requiring oversight and action, and so much day tripping to enjoy within an hour’s drive in all directions. When we do leave we find places to explore around coastal British Columbia within a few hours drive or ferry away for a 4 night maximum stay and the options are varied and amazing.

WHISTLER

The first road trip of the summer season was at Summer Solstice, my favourite day of the year.  Now from the beach where we live we look across the Strait of Georgia to the mainland coast mountain range. I’ve been staring at it for 7 years now, always wanting to go have a close up and personal look. So this time in search of a complete change of scenery, we took the ferry to the mainland and headed north into the mountains to the resort town of Whistler. It’s known of course as a winter resort, where the 2010 Olympics were held but you will never see me there in that winter snow. No way. But in summer it’s not at all quiet as it has developed into a huge mountain bike destination. There’s lots to do, great hikes, outstanding mountain scenery to gawk at, and, because it’s a tourist town, over 200 restaurants of all kinds, a similar number of shops and all kinds of people to gawk at as well after a day of all those views. I particularly liked watching the mountain bikers with their own unique sense of style and attitude.

Highlight of the trip was a Summer Solstice float plane 4-hour sightseeing flight where we flew on top of those huge mountains, in between them through the valleys and over rivers and lakes of emerald and deep blue, eventually landing on one of those secluded mountain lakes. Right beside the place we landed our pilot found an extensive cache of camping equipment beside the lake that someone had likely had delivered up there for some hikers somewhere to rendezvous with. Its contents were torn apart and scattered all over the beach and in the surrounding brush; clearly a bear had found it in the meantime.

The flight was wonderful but I did, however, also want to walk around on the top of those mountains so we took the big gondola up the Whistler mountain to where it ends at the Roundhouse. To go further up to get to the summit we then took a chair lift up to the top, later walked the 3km trail down. They make hanging out on the top of the world easy.

The Mountain Warriors

 

QUADRA ISLAND

In great contrast, a few weeks later we went back to Quadra Island (1 1/2 hour drive plus a short ferry ride) to a cottage I love with its view towards the coast mountains of the mainland and where we can kayak past seals and see kingfishers and herons and turkey vultures, as well as the ubiquitous eagles, ravens and crows doing their crazy thing chasing each other.  I love this island. This is the 3rd year we’ve been to this particular place and I’m booking now for next year. (Tales of past trips to Quadra here: Feeling the Land)

One reason I’m so fond of Quadra is that it is a large island but only a part of it, in the south, is populated so there are big uninhabited areas of forests, lakes, creeks and mountains (well, after Whistler let’s call them big hills). Some keen trail hiking locals have created a trail map book that I’ve been working my way through, and it will take many many more summer visits to get to them all, if ever. After walking on top of the world, here there was a different kind of hiking, this time taking trails through deep forests of tall trees and fern-covered banks, along cliff ridges to find lakes where there are no people at all.

In between all this traveling and scenery gazing back home in Qualicum Beach we’ve had lots of visitors this spring and summer, including #2 Son Mike who was here for close to a month. It’s been busy. But the past week or so everything has slowed down to a crawl, along with the still, heat of mid-summer, and it’s been quiet as I enjoy the scenery around my own home, living outside, watching hummingbirds and bees and puttering. I’m enjoying every quiet moment as I gather my strength because… that quiet is all about to change.

I’m overcoming my reluctance to travel in summer and soon I’ll be traveling Back East, as they say, to Ontario to go visiting some friends and family on a “How can I miss you if you won’t go away” solo trip for a couple of weeks or so. Lots of planes, lots of driving, lots of new geography and lots of visiting. And no doubt lots more walking, gawking and eating.

Stoked.