time away  1  2  3

Midway between Owen Sound and Wiarton, I spot the limestone cliffs. They extend along what looks to be, if my bearings are correct, the far shore of Colpoys Bay. Cliffs now loom on my left, as well. They’re on both sides of the inlet. I’ve soon reached and driven through Wiarton, and am heading up the other side of the inlet, now, toward the Cape Croker Indian Reserve. It appears my hunch was right. The farther I drive, the more convinced I am that the painting is of the opposite shoreline but viewed from closer up and from a different angle, probably from White Cloud Island.

The following day, I take a run up the Bruce Peninsula to Tobermory. Friends Lyn and Len have a store there called General Eclectic and, though not yet the long weekend, shoppers are already crowding its aisles. Lyn's daughter, Shelly, owns Marco Polo Trading, a five-minute walk away. I drop in on her, as well. Both stores, reflecting their owners, are chockablock with fun and colour and are popular with tourists. The season is short this far north, so as well as being merchants, Len is a carpenter and Lyn is a stained-glass artist—one of Canada’s finest.

Today, for a change of scene, I decide to drive the Lake Huron shoreline between Kincardine and Sauble Beach and I’m about halfway to Kincardine when I spot the PAISLEY NEXT LEFT sign. Paisley was Gram’s home town and, according to old photos, I visited there as a toddler, but I have no memory of ever being there. On a whim, I take the next left, and, within minutes, I’m there and pleasantly surprised. Situated in a hollow where the Teeswater and Saugeen rivers come together, Paisley is as pretty a town as I’ve seen in a while. I park my car beneath a tree and, while strolling the main drag, have a growing urge to search out dead relatives. I ask a lady for directions to the cemetery. There are two. In the second, I find Gram’s sister, Harriet, and her family. I remember them more as names than people. I never make it to Lake Huron.

Today, after smooching the cats for a while, then treating myself to a 5-star breakfast at Suzie's, a local eatery, I set out in search of the landscape painted on the inside lid of the wooden box that sat, usually open, on my grandmother's dresser for the ten or so years I shared her bedroom as a child. I hadn’t seen the box since childhood, nor thought much about it till, years later, while going through my mother’s belongings after she died, I opened a black wooden box and, there it was—the all-but-forgotten painting. Lately, I’ve been wondering by whom and where it was painted. As to where, I will follow a hunch. Since Gram, before my time, had lived in Wiarton and, later, on White Cloud Island, I’ve decided to drive the Colpoys Bay shoreline.

The next day, I watch Knuck paint for a while, then drive into town for a Tim Hortons coffee, which I take with me to The Sisters, an area named for the two big rocks we swam to and dove off as kids. The water level has dropped a couple of feet since then, so getting out to them is no longer a challenge to the novice swimmer—you can wade out to them, now, through water that’s rarely more than waist-deep. And diving from them is now out of the question,  especially from the heights we used to dive. Nowadays, this beautiful strip of shoreline with its two big rocks is called Memorial Park, though not by those of us from way back when—we’ll always think of it as The Sisters.

time away   1  2  3

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