Open Doors

This past weekend hubby and I settled into our car seats at 9:30 Saturday morning to start a day of visiting public buildings around the county of Oxford. We knew that this could be a bust but decided to test out the theory that visiting all these places could be interesting. Through the morning misty rain we drove to Tillsonburg and Annandale House as our first stop.

We were the early birds and the worms (printed programs) weren't even ready yet. The helpers filed by us to their stations as we got our instructions. Off to the right we went to the first guide. Haltingly, she told us interesting stories about the butler's pantry and the extent of the encroachment of the addition on the original house. A sweet lady. We moved on to the rest of the house. The dining room was fabulous, not big but beautifully restored with warm muted colours and lovely dark period furniture. The ceiling was enchanting with plaster flowers all painted in relief. Through the rest of the house we heard more interesting details, found out that the mortgage had been paid off over the previous thirty years, the committee having saved the house from falling down through neglect. We loved the whole hour we spent there chatting and learning and looking at pictures of Annandale House in its heyday.

From there we went to Tillsonburg Airport and hubby had an up-close-and-personal inspection of a Harvard aircraft, a two-seater used in WWII. We checked out the price for a half-hour ride--$200 a person--too high in the sky for our pocketbooks, but enjoyed seeing the planes take off and land while we chatted with friends and with one of the members of the Canadian Harvard Association. He was so enthused with the plane that we couldn't help enjoying his patter.

Time for lunch. In Ingersoll we decided to try Crabby Joe's. Not good. Dirty, in fact. Now I know why they say you should always go to the washroom before you order! Loud music pounded our ear drums as we tried to chat. When the food came the fries tasted great but the sandwich was not so good. I made do with the fries. We couldn't leave soon enough for me but the waitress was slow coming back. I went to the car while hubby waited at the bar to pay. When he got to the car finally, he told me he had leaned on the bar and got sticky stuff on his arms. Lucky we carry hand cleaner in the glove box.

As we headed out of Ingersoll the rain came down in torrents, not a problem in the car. We took the Governor's Road east to the cement plant half way to Woodstock. It was on the tour and I had a particular interest, having been 10 years old when my father sold our farm to the Canada Cement Company. (Now it is called LaFarge.) When we arrived the rain had stopped and we headed over to the tents erected for the 50 year celebration. There we saw family and friends who were reminiscing as well, and munched on the wonderful cake for free. We wanted to take the bus tour around the site so waited in the rain to get on the bus. We were soaked! Never mind, the tour was worth it, especially to me as I well remember the farms and farm people who used to be on this land 50 years ago. The highlight was the quarry 300 feet below the surface, a huge expanse with layers of limestone looking mighty in the gloom of the dark day. At the bottom was a pretty green lake, green because of the calcium content, we were told. As the bus slowly wound its way back out of the pit, I was thinking of the forbidden trips my brothers and I would take to the back of our farm which had been taken over by the cement company. Huge lakes of muddy water were bordered by brownish yellow clay and, in some places, quicksand, which we were careful to avoid. I well remember the kildeers running about on this muddy expanse. The tour ended and, back in the car, we headed for Woodstock.

I was thrilled to see inside the Masonic Temple building fronting on Dundas Street. You know how it is--I had passed that building countless times over my lifetime and never known what a treasure it was inside. I particularly liked the newly-added cupola on the third floor and the wood-lined room on the first floor which may have been a bar in the old Buckingham Hotel, which predates even my memory!

On to the Court House where we enjoyed seeing inside such a magnificent building. Once again, this was special to me as I knew my dad's picture as a former Warden of Oxford County was on the wall of the County chamber. As we approached this room from the hall I noticed the pictures hanging and then, the first one I looked at was Dad. How cool is that! It was like I was led to that picture. Kismet? Anyhow I got to sit in the Warden's chair and I took a silent moment to sit in my dad's spot and feel what he must have felt. Very wonderful. When we left the room a lady in the hall told me she, too, was from Embro and had known my dad.

We made a quick trip to the current Woodstock City Hall, saw the mayor's office, the council chambers, and climbed to the clock tower high above the street. I remembered this building as being the post office when I went to school here but it had become the City Hall in 1968 when a new post office was built. The former city hall has been a museum since that time.

One more stop on the tour--it was now 4:00 and things were closing--and we would go home. The county Arboretum had been started by a group of folk interested in preserving species of trees and is named for one of those people--Les Dickson, a former warden of the county from my parents' era. I had known him, too. We parked in the grassy lot at the W.Leslie Dickson Arboretum--the only car there. That was okay with us as we love to escape the crowds. We put on our running shoes and headed off on an excursion across the gently sloping, grassy carpet, reading the tree signs along the way. We noticed that some of the signs were damaged and wondered about the care of this wonderful place. Does someone look after it? Is planting still being done? Trees were often planted in large groups of four of the same variety and, sometimes, one or two of the four were partly or completely dead, a pity we thought. Nevertheless, strolling alone through this lovely green arbor made us appreciate Les Dickson and the others who thought ahead to provide these tall beauties for us to enjoy.

We got back in the car, I switched to sandals, and we headed towards home. What a wonderful day we had had, and it was all free and so close to home. Once again, it was a great place to stand--Ontari-ar-i-ar-i-o!