Meeting up in Ontario

Our Canadian friends, Doug and Margot, had decided to leave their comfortable flat in Kensington after five years and return to their roots. Doug wanted a change from city life too, as he had various projects in mind. They ended up finding a farmhouse with some land, three hours drive north west of Toronto, in a lovely rural setting near Georgian Bay.

I felt very excited to be going out to see them on my own. John had been working at full tilt for most of the year and now it seemed that we were racing towards Autumn with very little in the way of vacation. Unfortunately, his schedule wasn’t going to be able to fit in two weeks in Canada but he very generously suggested I go and have some real ‘time out’.

I got to Heathrow with a feeling of both dread and anticipation. The girl at the desk wasn’t able to find my booking. She spoke to somebody on the telephone and the happy outcome was that I had been upgraded to business class. From then on, I felt very well looked after and enjoyed chatting to my neighbour, a Canadian widow in her late eighties, who came to England every year and was – besides being a rabid Anglophile – an expert on Agatha Christie’s life and books.
Fortunately, I had read most ‘Agatha Christies’ over the years. I was first introduced to them by the sanatorium ‘library’ at school. I had been laid low in the ‘san’ for a week. It was a single storey building, located in an isolated part of the school grounds, amongst trees. Ailing girls were supervised by a very no-nonsense but kind-at-heart ‘Sister’, who wore a white hospital uniform with cap to match at all times. As I got better, I was finally allowed out of my room and found the small library, which seemed to consist mainly of Agatha Christies or stories about missionaries in Africa. The latter didn’t appeal in the least. Too many of our teachers at school were ex-missionaries.

I found that reading Agatha Christie was much more riveting than revising for my exams and managed to get through about ten of them. In the past couple of years, I have read the interesting story of her life – and loves – so my companion and I were well suited for the eight hours trip to Toronto. We could lie back and relax, and enjoy all the drinks and meals brought to our comfortable seats.

I am not now a great lover of ‘crime’ novels in general but another writer of that time that I like, whose books have just been reprinted, is Eric Ambler. His are about espionage. And then there was Josephine Tey and Dorothy L. Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, Marjorie Allingham – all of an era. Connie, my new found ‘bookish’ friend liked John Grisham, who I haven’t read. He is contemporary and probably more gritty. I also like the Maigret books by Simenon, which are better read in French and which encouraged me to go back to that language and improve it. So it turns out that I haven’t read any modern crime novels (bar the irrefutable Ian Fleming) – and, of course, he is only revived into the modern age by the James Bond films. It’s not that I’m against contemporary crime novels. I just prefer other genres of modern literature.

We arrived in Toronto on time but when I came through customs there was nobody waiting to meet me and I began to wonder whether I had told Margot the wrong day. Suddenly, a flurry in a purple jumper erupted like a small tornado and there she was with her straight blonde bob and warm, husky, welcoming voice, fizzing with energy and enthusiasm!

The car was large and was obviously not a city slicker, being coated half way up the sides in white mud. I was looking forward to this rural idyll already! We sailed out on a twelve lane highway due north west and after about forty minutes we met up with the beginning of the vast tracts of rural Canada.

First stop was at a roadside place selling all manner of fruit and vegetables. It was the season for orange pumpkins and festivals wound around Hallowe’en. Canadians really go to town celebrating the wealth of ‘mellow fruitfulness’ at this time of year. Margot bought a bagful of Honey Crisp apples – so delicious that we ate them all and had to buy some more later on for Doug. Honey Crisp was definitely the name to go for over the next two weeks – crunchy, juicy, and full of flavour – I developed a very sharp eye for barrels of apples by the roadside and Margot would do one of her magnificent swerves on empty roads and then we would continue on our way with the renewed bag of apples between us. And the other stop off point was for doughnuts… the less said about that the better except that what I would never buy in England I could become addicted to in Canada!

The traffic thinned out markedly as we bowled along through small villages and past isolated farms and then the road ran out. In fact, it became an unmade white track as we ploughed on deeper into the land of the coyote. Now I could see why the car was covered in a layer of white mud. The weather was mild and the beginnings of a spectacular sunset lit the distant horizon as we finally rolled up the long drive to a welcoming, illuminated farmhouse.

We were met by the resident farm cats, now household pets. Beans and Annie were to be constant companions in the days ahead, sometimes even coming on walks with us as if they were dogs. They were insatiably curious, playful, and fiercely persevering in getting what they wanted. Above all, they were hunters born and bred, whose prey lay scattered on the mat in the mornings; mouse parts ripped joyfully to shreds, tiny shrews, their paws stretched heavenwards and, inevitably, small, softly feathered birds not quick enough to fly out of reach. I rather dreaded that a gift might be brought up to my room but although they both tried desperately to creep under the door at night, I was spared the honour of being presented with a tasty morsel. They had no idea what a paradise for cats they inhabited!

As I fell asleep that first night, I heard the coyotes howling up on the ridge. I was glad to be in my bed with only semi-feral creatures flashing their paws under the door.

Next morning the sun and clear blue sky tempted me out of bed to walk across the fresh, dewy lawns around the house and after breakfast Margot and I went on a forty minute exploration of the property, taking in the two pools, fields around which Doug had mown green pathways, a clearing where there were over thirty beehives and finally a walk towards the ridge, where we sat for a while at a look out point on comfortable chairs, gazing out towards the blue waters of Georgian Bay, There was also a brand new eco building which was Doug’s country office and conference centre. He also hopes to use it for art exhibitions and informal discussion gatherings – the first of which was in session on my arrival.

I just managed to snap Doug one day on his green lanes itinerary – it’s not a very clear photo but Margot said how much he enjoyed zooming round, checking everything out as he went. So I just wanted to record it!

Doug’s new eco building is very modern, light and spacious, with a view onto the pools in front and solar panels behind, which are working very well to date. I think he hopes eventually to be ‘off grid’.

Next on the agenda was a visit to the ‘egg lady’ at a nearby farm. We were met by fiercesome barks but when I opened the car door a trifle nervously, the dog was just a friendly giant who wanted to lick you all over. The hens were scattered around, as happy as Larry, and seemed to like living under the hedges. I am impressed at how many people Doug and Margot have befriended in the short time they have been there as houses and farms are very spread out and you need to make an effort to find your neighbours!

The nearest towns – about half an hour’s drive away in opposite directions, are Meaford and Owen Sound. I will remember Meaford for the café that sold the best butter tarts – a Canadian speciality – and a department store which seemed to be in a 1950s timewarp, run by two sisters – formidable dames! At least, they looked like sisters, in similar bunched floral skirts and voluminous, all embracing ‘tops’, padding doggedly between the narrow aisles of tall, slightly wobbly shelves in sensible, open-toed leather sandals. They knew their stock and nothing would escape their gimlet eye. I departed with postcards of the store, whose façade is exceptionally fine.

The main street was full of straw stuffed scarecrow figures in orange and black, wrapped around lamp posts to celebrate Hallowe’en. We visited an art exhibition at the Town Hall depicting beautiful, wild landscapes. Following that, our search for best butter tarts and chicken pie for supper was top of our agenda. Later on, Doug told me that local politics are quite contentious and fiery. The tranquillity of Meaford by the water on a weekday afternoon belies the strong currents flowing beneath the surface. He has dipped his toe in the water and is an authority on the uncontrollable rip tides of local government.

On our many forays out and about, we kept passing little wooden huts at the side of the road, built near to the school bus stops. Margot told me that these protect the children from the vagaries of wild weather as they wait. The bus system must be a lifeline in rural Ontario, as the distances between things are vast. And it’s also a way of families keeping in contact with one another, especially those on outlying farmsteads.

Margot had recently joined a choir at Owen Sound, the other ‘local’ town, which is bigger than Meaford. My sister sings in a choir in London even now but I wasn’t even chosen at school to join. This had always left me with the feeling that our choir mistress, Miss Roadknight, just took against me and my lovely voice! None of us liked to sit in the front row in our weekly class singing lessons because in her zeal to get us to pronounce things properly, her sibilant efforts at emphasis would inevitably cause a shower of spit to fly through the air and hit one or other of us in the eye. In comparison, Margot’s teacher was sweet, encouraging and patient. I realised however that, after all, I was not a natural asset to any choir. Nonetheless, they gave me a very warm welcome and I shall continue to sing in my bath!

Owen Sound has a pretty park with a river running through it and a wonderful bookshop in Main Street, which is run by friends of Doug and Margot. At the far end is a café, where you can browse and the couple who run it are opening up a huge extension further back still, which has until now been a warehouse space. They are creating a bar with food and tables to bring people together for conversation and discussion evenings on various books, authors and interesting subjects. It will definitely be a sought after meeting place for readers and thinkers to exchange views in convivial company and a great asset to the town. Although the Internet brings people closer together virtually, there’s no comparison with face to face encounters – with food and drink on offer!

On our way home from town, we stopped off at the Post Office at Annan – a tiny hamlet. Margot said she always had to be sure to have a spare half an hour, as the postmistress expected a chat. It gave me pause for thought of the post offices in London, some of which are so busy that you are often standing in a queue for half an hour, unless you choose your time carefully. And there’s no time or even inclination for a chat! Turning the corner at Balaclava on the home straight I saw some large birds wheeling overhead. They are turkey vultures and very common here. Another unusual animal which keeps an eye on flocks of sheep is the llama. Farmers have brought them in because they are both of a maternal nature and chase away predators. I noticed that farmers in the Swiss Alps keep them too. On our return home this was waiting for us on the ‘stoop’.

There are lots of farmers’ markets dotted around the countryside. We visited one which is near a Mennonite group, who are somewhat akin to the Amish. They dress in a significantly different way, drive horses and carriages and are apparently marvellous at building houses. Their carpentry is of the highest quality. We came upon some of them while searching for honey and maple syrup and watching the cattle auction. There were so many things for sale, including rabbits and ducklings – and butter tarts!

Margot had signed up for some courses and one morning when she was away, I went with Doug to Owen Sound to hear a lecture about the European Union by Dr. Michael Johns of Laurentian University at Georgian College. The auditorium was vast and surprisingly, I thought, full, mainly with retired people, all of them obviously really interested to hear what the lecturer had to say. His talk was so clear, first of all explaining the history of the EU, stating its advantages and disadvantages and finishing by suggesting the pros and cons of various other countries joining it. I made notes because there was an enormous amount I didn’t know. How strange it was to learn all about something very important to the U.K. but being talked about so far away in rural Ontario to a rapt audience! At first glance, one is aware of a sparse, somewhat isolated, population but there are a lot of clued up people living here, somewhat hidden from view, in them thar woods!

And, indeed, we were invited to a musical evening down a muddy track in the woods by a couple who had travelled a lot to extreme venues in their life. A huge polar bear skin stretched up the staircase on one wall and the house was full of interesting artefacts and paintings. The couple who owned it were writers. Doug and Margot had invited some friends up from Toronto and before the concert, we had a hearty meal at Ted’s Diner. This was a shack, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, decorated with fairy lights, very rustic but offering the very best of meat and fish in the region. It is enormously popular. A delicious place to remember and return to.

Margot’s friend’s husband had died some years ago and now she had a new partner, who was a physicist, a man endowed with huge energy and enthusiasm for life in general. He was never still – he danced around both in body and spirit like sparks from a bonfire. I had heard an interesting theory about ‘dark matter’. It doesn’t weigh as much as it should. Some scientist had suggested that it could be ‘thoughts’ that were missing – that ‘thoughts’ had a weight! This seemed totally unacceptable in scientific terms – more in the realm of romanticism and poetry I would have thought – but I broached it and Ian said it was a possibility, and something had even been written up along those lines in scientific journals.As well as ‘dark matter’, there is mysterious ‘dark energy’. I couldn’t develop this further as we had to leave but I continued to mull it over during the concert. Heavy and ponderous thoughts indeed! Accompanied by a Dolly Parton voice!

Margot said she wanted to take me further afield and thought we should spend a day at Southampton and Port Elgin, still on Lake Huron but on the other side of the Bruce peninsula. The roads are good and heartwarmingly empty but for me, in my head, it still takes a very long time in Ontario to get to anywhere else! However, it was worth it and we walked along the beach and bought some additions for the new bathroom in an antique shop in Port Elgin. And we also looked up real estate because there were some beautiful houses on the lakeside, some of which were for sale. A fair proportion of them are holiday homes.

We then had a very tasty lunch at a small restaurant in Southampton, run by a couple who were about to shut the place down for the winter and travel to Turkey. Their food was organic and healthy and you wanted more of it. I was thinking how much they would love the fresh, grilled fish in Turkey served on the beach with lemons and fresh, green salad. We had that memorable lunch by the sea at the Princes’ islands, a forty five minute ferry trip from the Galata bridge in Istanbul. I hope, one day, to go back there. I hope they went there too!

Then it was time to walk a little more, shop a little more and enjoy some exploring round and about.

I couldn’t leave Canada without a picture of a big Mack truck! I think they are rather beautiful but I certainly wasn’t born to be a big Mack truck driver. The colour of this one is especially appealing.

There’s a frisson of fear about them too. They do remind me of that early film of Spielberg’s called ‘Duel’, which is a masterful example of continued suspense, involving you totally, as if you were the car driver yourself. Look at the little chimney rising on the left hand side … the terror awaits…

Back we drove, lickety split, across country. At a certain point we veered off track to see an old water mill at Walter’s Falls. There are a lot of waterfalls in Ontario. This one is picturesque rather than dramatic and conjures up a world not far into the past but probably obsolete. It now attracts tourists rather than being a working mill.

The Inglis Falls, near Owen Sound, are much more dramatic. Lots of fallen boulders and tree trunks give it an atmosphere of virgin terrain. And it’s good to hear the noise of the water splashing down into the river below. Reviving negative ions!

Margot had to do her homework for the course. She had set up a small desk for me outside my bedroom and next morning, while she was away, I set about reading my novel for the Autumn term at the Institut Français. ‘Le Temps des Secrets’ by Marcel Pagnol. I love his writing and this is the third novel I have read of his. Luckily, there was a Robert/Collins large French dictionary in the house, so I was on my way, with no interruptions, except for the solicitations of Annie and Beans, who performed some trapeze tricks for me on the stairs, followed by a few yowls denoting that treats were in order.

I had wanted to take Doug and Margot out for a special meal one evening and mooted this to them. Doug had an idea and soon after we were on another roadtrip, tracking down dinner beyond the horizon. We sort of followed the Niagara Escarpment, which stretches high above the property and apparently goes on for eight hundred miles and has been designated a ‘World Biosphere’ site. It’s possible to walk along it for the most part and Doug has already trekked along bits of it. The odd bear has been seen from time to time!

We drove ever onwards and I became totally confused as to which part of the country we had ended up in but was thrilled as the restaurant finally hove into view. In fact, the cooking was divine but due to one thing and another I only seem to have a picture of the very moorish (more-ish) bottle of wine and that isn’t very much in focus either…….. but it was a great evening and fabulous to be sitting down, having such a convivial time with good friends.

… as far as I can remember!

We had taken to watching the very amusing, trenchant Anthony Bourdain in the evenings, who is the high priest of ‘haute cuisine’ though we love him more as the man who loves to eat. In his book ‘Kitchen Confidential’, he says ‘Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride’. He’s very funny and we enjoyed his forays into different restaurants around the world. Rural life was good and getting better.

Then came a suggestion. ‘How about going to Toronto and staying the night’? I looked at Margot and tried to get my head around a trip to the big city. Where would we stay? We decided to go for this website, where you suggest an area and then you are offered a hotel – but the rub is you don’t know which hotel until you agree to stay in it. Well, it was only for one night and you could specify three or four stars – and it was a great deal, financially. Doug was rather against it and thought we should go for a good, traditional place – and suggested one or two. One had no vacancies and then we thought we’d just go for the mystery one. Margot wasn’t totally excited by what came up but I was looking forward to it all by now, despite the three hour drive ahead of us.

Au revoir, cats! Happy hunting! Doug was now fully ensconced in his new office and was often down at Owen Sound by 8 am for a swim in the pool at the sports centre before starting work. He waved us off and we were once more on the road to somewhere new! We stopped off at a little antique shop in Markdale run by a gentle artistic couple, where I bought a small, pale purple bubble paperweight with pink flowers trapped forever inside. Margot bought a delightful little bottle, made out of resin and scrimshawed with oriental type fish. It has a multicoloured jewelled stopper and was, I think, used for keeping perfumed oils. This was later slipped into my bag as a homegoing gift. It is a lovely thing and a fitting memento of our time together. It sits above my desk here but I have no knowledge of its provenance.

This is a sort of roadside store out of town which will sell a cornucopia of gifts, crockery, vases, paintings and prints, jars of gourmet food, kaftan type clothes, fudge and sweetmeats, bathroom and kitchen accessories and garden ornaments. I bought myself a beautiful bag at a knock down price. The smell of joss sticks pervades and the whole adds up to a glorious Aladdin’s cave.

After Orangeville, the highway opens up and we were soon speeding into the city centre. There is an amazing Indian temple in a very peculiar location right by the freeway. This picture makes it look rather like a blancmange that has come out of a complicated jelly mould. That is only because I took it at speed as we passed. Indians were brought over to build it specially and it’s a fantastic piece of architecture but so oddly located!

I was surprised to find that the city was quite car friendly. We drove around a bit to give me an idea of the layout and then we made our way to the apartment of Margot’s newly wedded son. Toronto is a mix of hi-tech skyscrapers and imaginative modern buildings but between them are what I suppose are the original buildings, which are small and villagey. Robin lives in one of these streets. He and his enormous dog came with us on a tour of the city via the university, the ‘Bond Street’ posh area and the art galleries – then swooping down to the shoreline, where huge banks of condominiums probably cost a fortune for the magnificent views on offer. There’s something of a pioneering feel about Toronto – a little like Seattle – but I would need more time to have a strong opinion about it as a city to live in. Robin is obviously very happy living there and there’s plenty of green space to keep the dog in trim and happy too!

Now we had to make our way to the Grand hotel. Margot had been slightly grumbling about it but it looked impressive enough when we got there and there was parking underneath. The lobby was spacious and full of enormous urns of flowers. I thought we had fallen on our feet – this certainly wasn’t a pig in a poke. And there was more … joy! We found the most wonderful swimming pool and, even better, we had brought our costumes. Hurrah! Our room was spacious with two vast beds and a well set out bathroom with good lighting, bath and shower. We seemed to be on about the twentieth floor and as twilight set in I took a photo of the rather stunning view!

Then we went looking for supper and ended up at an old favourite of Margot’s. Golden Thai. Sleep came easily and I woke early, excited about our swim, which proved to be perfect. The huge pool was empty and the water warm and inviting. Afterwards, we drove past the house where Margot, Doug and their three sons used to live, near the covered market.

On the way out of town we stopped off at the place she had lived in as a child growing up, which was a suburb – but a suburb which gave easy access to a hilly, wild green area where they were free to wander at will for miles. She hadn’t been back for a long while and it was a great shock to find that the house she had been brought up in had been knocked down and a totally different one built on the lot. It was rather a sobering experience. But the green hills where they had roamed wildly as children were still the same.

We stopped near Orangeville and investigated a large store called Winners. And so it turned out to be, as I found a pair of wonderfully comfortable raspberry coloured sheepskin boots for a fraction of the price they would have been in London. I would probably have to wear them on the way home as my case was already bulging, but it was worth it to have that toasty feeling as winter approached. And I have to add that they have lived up to expectation – and have been the recipient of many compliments! I expect raspberry to be the next fashion colour!

I felt quite exhausted when we finally zoomed up the drive to Heroncroft. Doug had pulled out all the stops and rustled up something for supper. I don’t quite know what it was but it was very tasty and he was impatient for us to sit down and eat it! The cats were thrilled at our return and threw themselves upon us after supper as we lay on the squashy sofas, watching a rather sleazy but hypnotic biography of a Hollywood producer at the height of his powers in the 1960s. I appreciated the charm of being back home on the range! Doug had his second informal discussion group and we heard the cars making their way up the drive but we couldn’t quite extricate ourselves from the sofas and box of chocolates to join them.

The end of the two weeks was nigh and we would soon making tracks to the city once again. At least the airport was this side of it. In the time I’d been here the trees had been turning and I was astonished at the intensity of the fall colours.
The clock was ticking inevitably onwards. We set off early for the airport, so we could have a leisurely lunch and a mooch around various places en route and this made farewells somewhat easier to come to terms with. But it was still quite a wrench to leave.

This last picture brings to mind Shelley and his ‘Ode to the West Wind’. Those leaves of ‘yellow and black and pale and hectic red’ are still on the trees, yet to be blown away by that ‘wild west wind’, to become ‘like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing’. And one cannot but continue those thoughts along the lines of Shelley’s ‘Adonais’ – ‘Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass’…Ontario could certainly subscribe to that, decked in Autumn colours… this had turned out to be a very special trip for me.

As ever, Margot knew the most delicious lunch spot, just a swerve off the main drag. Mrs. Mitchell’s restaurant at Shelbourne is in a quiet haven of pretty, flower bedecked buildings, only a hop and a jump from the road, yet sheltered and peaceful. The restaurant is quaint and picturesque with wooden wainscoting and even more, the food is wonderful. I would be a constant customer if I lived here! One more stop along the way found us at the amazing and impressive McMichael art gallery in Kleinburg but time was getting short. A return visit here is a must.

Parting of the ways. Margot came with me as far as she could, then we embraced and I got my bags together and made my way through passport control. I turned to look back and the last I saw of her was a small figure waving wildly…

END