A day in Ontario

Well, Mom and I spent the morning in the attic doing wallpaper with my favourite ancient radio blasting Q-92 close by. Setbacks were many, but the outcome was very positive for all concerned. The radio station even chose to take a short break from the usual bilge by playing Dust in the Wind.

After Dad and the kids came home from church, we (at my mother's suggestion) packed the car and headed off to visit Dad's two spots of land. One is about forty-five minutes away in a semi-suburban neighbourhood of very western Quebec. The other is located near Lancaster, (very eastern) Ontario. Being pre-mosquito season, it was actually quite enjoyable. Apologies for anyone who tried to call (especially my loyal fans, of whom there are many)...we were out of town.

The first spot is a lot, fit for house-building, with a beautiful, directionless, and often bug-ridden creek at the back. I love it because it's the awesomest thing ever to drive down this tidy street past all the big brick houses in our dirty van and stop in front of the space covered in grass and small trees (and it's hard to tell the two apart) where I believe the neighbourhood delinquents go to drink and smoke. I love it because it's a small spot of wilderness in an otherwise overly domesticated world.

The second is way, way bigger. We're talking acres and acres of farmland that Dad owns out in the west. Farmers grow crops there. There's a river and an oak orchard and a beaver dam and a frog pond and hundreds of trees that we planted. Ordinarily, I have an aversion to fields and farmland, which I denounce as boring and...well...domesticated, domestic. But I love this place. Last year I took some awesome pictures there.

My brother and I ran all over the place. I even filmed a bit, which is unusual. Every time we go there, the place seems smaller and smaller. I climbed one of the hills around Frog Pond in four steps today. I remember when those hills were the Everests of my world.

Of course, that doesn't put me above rolling down them in the grass.

When we reached the river at the back, we discovered a tragedy. Nearly all the trees along the sides of the water had been cut down and left, to rot or burn, in an unfortunate multitude of bonfire piles. Apparently it had something to do with a word I have forgotten meaning to clear out the riverwater.

I was heartbroken. Then I was angry. If you happened to chance by that particular Ontario river on that particular Sunday at that particular place and you saw a girl throwing dead corn plants into the water and furiously shouting, Damn your bloody river! ...as Alicia says, well, that would probably have been me. Don't think time will wear away my rage, though. If anything, it will morph into a deep hatred of powerful government that will slowly eat away at me from the inside. (Alternatively, I could learn from this and mature into a hardened but clear-thinking adult. Oh, I make myself laugh.)

I did speak to my friend the old oak, though. I suppose we must adapt and move on after episodes of such destruction, like those in Indonesia after the tsunami. It isn't always easy.

We stopped at Dairy Queen (the place to be in rural and semi-rural areas, evidently) before turning back. The Ottawa Classic Rock station wasn't being picked up by the car radio, so my dear brother and I provided the entertainment, as we had on the way there. We sing in the car. I know it's very very...I don't know...but...we do. In fact, we reached a milestone today by singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall in its blissful entirety. Neither of us could have done it without the other.

The Kid also made a bet with himself that we would arrive by six thirty, and this was the subject of much debate on the way home. Eg. Well, if you win and yourself doesn't pay you, I think you should beat yourself up. Etc. My family is very strange. (By the way, have you ever read that E. E. Cummings children's story with the little girl named I who meets the little girl named You? I didn't think so, but it's a great story. I love that guy's work. I also like Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus.) When we got home at six twenty eight and a half, he leapt out of the car and cried, "I win!"

Got to run now, there's more wallpapering to be done....

Quiesence perhaps, but noise as well.