Memoir: Life On Manitoulin
Many people use cameras and camcorders to capture all their greatest memories, but for me just a little rock proves to be better than all these new technologies. This little rock is extremely special for a reason: it was from the place, call it corny, that will live in my heart forever. This place is Manitoulin Island. It is a just west of Sudbury and most travelers seem to pass right on through it without stopping. It is a place with rolling fields, sand beaches, lakes like glass, several great restaurants, and it is the home of the most beatiful sunsets, I think, in the world.
I made my first trip to this oasis from the urban lifestyle of a “Torontonian” at the ripe age of six months. I was placed in my carseat in my Dad’s Ford Galaxy; the aroma of the leather upholstery baking in the sun tickled my nose. We began the 500 kilometer or so, six-hour drive to the Island. I screamed and cried for no apparent reason and in doing so tired myself out so much I fell asleep. When I awoke it was to the gentle humming of the car’s engine as we sped down a deserted road, the sky an inky black scattered with stars overhead. The air smelled of sweetgrass, and I decided that the world was at peace, sighed contentedly and fell back asleep. That was my first view of the Island which would mean so much to me as I got older. I spent my first weeks ever on the Island at a place called Black Rock Resort. It was composed of a few cottages surrounding a rocky and slightly sandy beach. There was a large dock jutting out into the clear water and many trees surrounding the cottages. During my stay I did nothing but bounce up and down in my “bouncy chair” which moved across the floor, for added excitement (this was inside the cottage). I only stopped using this contraption, which had a fixed lock on what I considered amusing, for meals and the occasional walk with my family.
I returned each year after that, but it was during my late toddler years that the Island started to mean something to me. When I was around the age of five, I suited up in my lifejacket, grabbed my air-mattress and set out on a journey across the lake. To my great satisfaction the wind was blowing very hard that day; with a great sense of peace I drifted merrily out into the middle of the lake. My Dad turned to check on me and saw a speck on the horizon getting farther and farther away. With a yelp he ran (fully clothed) into the lake and began to swim as fast as he could to rescue me. We returned sopping wet, I with a look of great happiness on my face which, unfortunately, my dad did not share.
I have returned to the Island every year for a couple of weeks since then. The rock, which I picked off the rocky beach of Meldrum Bay, a tiny,deserted fishing town on the tip of the island, is a key to those memories and many others. Playing in the sand dunes at Carter Bay, swimming at Wee Point and eating at “Mum’s” Restaurant. This rock is a piece of the island which is so dear to me and my family, and it, in my opinion is much better than photographs, because it unlocks the more vivid photographs of the mind.
By Wafflegrimes (PL)
2005
posted by Wafflegrimes at
1:48 PM
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