Our Summer Sojourn

What is a trip to New Jersey without Atlantic City and the beaches? Walking the famed boardwalk we found this cool scene. Bikers, walkers, riders-in-bike cabs--all have a place here.

The Atlantic Ocean beckons way beyond this lovely beach. Some communities charged $5 a day to take in the beach so we just looked from afar. (We're not really beach people.)

Another carney-type attraction on Atlantic City's Boardwalk was this building, but we were too early in the day to actually get inside.

Ron is a lover of Stewart's Orange, buys it wherever he can find it here in Canada or the States. We had a great long chat with one of the weekend workers in this diner. Turns out he is a stockbroker in New York and spends his weekends waiting tables on the Boardwalk. Amazingly he knew that Canada has a very safe and secure banking system. Interesting guy.

Near our home-for-the-week, about 10 minutes out of Atlantic City there was a wonderful little historical village--Smithville, where we spent a couple of hours traipsing around and shopping. Ron bought a neat little football-themed light cover for Ben and Kevin in one of the shops. Here is the old mill but looking closer we found the mill wheel is almost totally rotted out.

I loved this little path to the pond and a quiet bench.


I'm not sure how this carousel fits into the historical theme but it was kind of cute.

Two different days we traveled to Cape May, a delightful resort town on the south part of the state. The houses wore their best dresses to welcome many visitors. All were vintage but in fine condition. We loved Cape May.


Look at the hydrangeas! Just lovely.

We probably won't be back to New Jersey but loved our week there this summer. Not sure there is anything else we need to see although this would be a great place for a family vacation with our kids and grandkids sometime. Hmm. If we do go we'll have to make sure to take lots of coin for the tolls. Every time we went anywhere we paid at the booth. In the beginning, a couple of times we had to go through without paying as we didn't have change or the machines didn't accept what we put in. Grrr!
We met this mother and daughter at a mixology course sponsored by the Marriott resort. At first the 9 of us were kind of reserved--as though we were all Canadians! As the sample sipping progressed, however, we became great friends.


We got along famously with these teachers and though we really didn't learn to make any drinks we had a ball. Needless to say we took the shuttle to the restaurant for dinner that night! The next morning we were off to see relatives and drove through New York for the first time. Took us over an hour but kind of interesting to see.

The 19th Wife

Usually my reading notes do not make it to my blog but The 19th Wife by David Evershoff has to be an exception.
Having visited Salt Lake City and the famed Mormon Tabernacle I was excited by this book. I wanted to learn more about the Latter Day Saints and Brigham Young. Well! With every page I struggled more and more with the cruelty to women and children inherent in the history of the Latter Day Saints' custom of "plural marriage." This is a convenient term for a man having as many wives as he wants. The first wife gets to accept or reject the subsequent ones but, in reality, she has no power. She owns nothing, least of all her own body, and certainly not her children. Inevitably she, in her deep belief in God's will that she do this, accepts. Brigham Young seems to be able to convince all of them that this is their role.
The book is well researched and written with present-day LDS as well as historical fact. We can only guess whether the present-day material is factual. (Certainly when I visited there last fall I found a loving, caring, nurturing and kind environment.) This book will not simply slide out of your mind as you put it aside each night. When I think of my marriage and what my husband and I have together, I know it would die if my husband were forced or wanted to take another wife. Call me selfish, Brigham, but God told Noah to take pairs of animals in the ark. He didn't say take one male and 50, 60, 125 females.
This is a great thought-provoking read. It puts a new slant on our visit to Salt Lake City last fall, for sure. And the 'saints' in that once favorite anthem of mine, Come, Come Ye Saints, are referring to each member of the LDS church. I thought saints were exceptionally good people in the Bible like Saint Peter and Saint James, but, no. Members of the LDS are called saints. I try to be a good person and I think I succeed most of the time. But I am no saint. Interesting that Brigham Young used the term for himself and all of his parishioners.
Pick up this book and give it a read for its scholarship, its organization, its historical information, but most of all because it will make you think.

Self-Cleaning Oven

Okay. It's a hot summer day and I've got to do something to take my mind off the heat. Go swimming? NO! Clean the oven. Unfortunately, the self that is going to clean it is me!

Here is the sludgy mess that has been waiting for this day. I can put this job off for years at a time, if I can evade that Mom-image over my shoulder shaming me. On the counter rests the new silicon oven liner thing that I bought in a lovely kitchen store in Victoria but I have to have a clean oven to put it into. After that it slides out and into soapy water for a slick cleanup, so I'm told.

I take the racks out and soak them in the bathtub while the oven cleaner seeps into the grease and baked brown spots. I wonder where all that comes from as I rarely have an oven spill. Just what is that crap? I've found that soaking and then scrubbing with SOS erases most of the crud.

Here is one rack done and dripping off in the sink. My pretty bathroom was never made for this job!

Two hours, many scrubbings/soakings/swishings later, I finally have the finished product and eggs on the stove for--YIKES!!!--I run to rescue the eggs for lunch. Anyhow the oven looks great, the silicone mat fits perfectly and I can only dream that my oven will stay clean longer.


Now I need to take a shower!

Mrs. Simcoe's Diary Day

For the last week of my holiday and up till today, I have been reading very early Canadian history. During that time I met Mrs. Simcoe. She was the wife of Governor Simcoe of Upper Canada whose time in this province (present-day Ontario) has left so many marks. (I grew up a mile north of the Governor's Road, built by and named for Governor John Graves Simcoe.
Amazingly his wife came with him to this untamed country and kept a journal of her time here. Below is the present-day version available on the web. The picture here is not how she looked. It is one she donned Welsh ancestral garb for; she did not dress like this all the time.


The copy I got from the library is pictured below, with all its fadings and tears, its yellowed pages and its vintage binding from 1965 when Mary Quayle Innis edited and published it. The original diary covers the time the Simcoes were in Canada, September 17, 1791 until October 16, 1796.I was excited about doing this research for another book but not prepared for the pleasure I would get from meeting Mrs. Simcoe. I would have loved this book even if I weren't doing research. I even kept it five days past the library due date so that I could finish it.
The chapters are headed as follows:
1. Journey to Canada
2. A Winter in Quebec
3. Journey to Niagara
4. A Year at Niagara
5. Life at York (later renamed Toronto)
6. Life at Niagara
7. Visit to Quebec
8. Niagara
9. York and Niagara
10. Departure

I learned many things about life in my country at that time and much more about Mrs. Simcoe. We tend to think of women from that time as frail creatures but she was anything but. She was artistic and many of her drawings provide excellent views into life of her day. An astute observer of her surroundings, both nature and human, she provides insight into the lives, foods, medicines and geography of this new world.
I'm taking it back to the library in a few minutes so you, too, will be able to take it out and voyage back to 1791.

My Grandbabies

My husband and I have breathed air from Mexico to China, from Cape Canaveral to Gibraltar. We've rafted the Colorado River and climbed all 235 steps of Brock's Monument at Queenston. We've seen the old growth forest of Cathedral Grove, and walked on Hadrian's Wall. And we've taken the helicopter ride over Niagara's Falls. None of it compares to holding our precious grandchildren. We have two (so far!) I have reservations about putting their pictures on the web so have undertaken today to give you word pictures about each of them.

Chelsea was born almost a year and a half ago and we flew out to see her three weeks later. What utter joy to press her cuddly body to me, her head turned toward my neck as she slept. I had forgotten that contentment, that peace of holding a trusting baby so close. Her little nose turned up slightly as she snuffled in her sleep, happy to be held, unaware of how cherished she is.

Last week I talked to her yet again on the phone and for the first time she tried to talk back. Of course she doesn't really talk yet but she got the idea and voiced her own language to me. So simple but so sweet. Yesterday when Beth put her on, she didn't make any sounds but stood motionless, totally listening as I talked to her. For once she didn't try to take the phone away and look at the earpiece. She seemed to get that the voice she was hearing was the interesting part and didn't try to 'see' me.

So what does Chelsea look like? She still has that tiny turn-up nose and her eyes are beautifully blue (like both her parents'). Her smile can be small and sweet as though she's not sure she should commit just yet, or fully fashioned across her face, pushing her pink cheeks into soft mounds of joy. And she has her grandfather's dimple. Only one, in her left cheek, and only visible when her smile erupts. Chelsea was chunky until she learned to walk and then run, so fast that she wore off her baby bits. She still has a wee tummy but is long in the waist and shorter in the legs. She has a great pose when she has something to laugh about or someone to laugh with. Her little legs spread apart she tips forward slightly at the waist and her wee bottom juts out. Her hands are moving always, punctuating her happy mood, and her grin with wide-spaced snow-white teeth melts my heart in a second. When teething her cheeks glow red but she still smiles and keeps moving, busy all the time. Lucky I can remember her falling asleep in my arms, as these days she is too interested in her total world to sleep except when in bed. Then she is a great sleeper. In case you haven't guessed, she's also a keeper.

Our Benjamin started his life with some difficulties. With my left hand I held him facing me, on my lap, while with my right I held a tiny medicine cup holding one ounce of breast milk for him. My son told me to keep waking him up as he needed to eat. I talked to him, jiggled him on my lap, saw his eyes flutter open and tipped the cup into his mouth. Softly he sucked away on the dribble then closed his eyes again. I did this over and over until, half an hour later, the cup was empty and Benjamin was fed. Such a joy for me, even though he was so small I was almost afraid to hold him.

He, too, has come a long way since that time seven months ago. Today he stands strong in my lap for as long as I want to hold him there. He sits up straight and true, and watches the world around him with bonny blue eyes wide. He is beautifully proportioned although I think he might end up with extra long arms like his grandfather. Too soon to tell, though. His hair is blond and soft and his gummy smile when he sees either of his doting parents makes me laugh out loud. He is mostly happy although he can have some 'off' days now and again. He took a while to catch on to sleeping as much as he should but now seems to have it figured out. When his father takes him and swings him up in the air or his mother comes through the door and snuggles him, Ben giggles a lot. He seems to be trying to get out the biggest laugh ever. I think he will be a happy boy, too.

Both of these children are totally enfolded in love by their parents and their grandparents. When we saw Chelsea for the first time I took her, held her awhile and then offered her to my husband. He was content to watch me hold her but took the bundle in his arms and lost his heart to his first grandchild. And when we held Ben for the first time the same gut level ache caught each of us by surprise. We were happy, we thought, without grandchildren. Now we know a greater visceral joy. Maybe we see our 'line' will carry on, I don't know.

Oh, we'll continue to travel and see the world and its secrets, but now we have so much more to come home to. Our blessed grandchildren.

Victoria Day in Woodstock

Preston Scout House Alumni Band

Monday, May 18 was a sunny but somewhat cool day weather-wise in Woodstock Ontario but it was anything but cool as far as Victoria Day entertainment. With my husband/partner in crime I took in the parade for the first time in years. How changed it is. We stood with our backs to the warming sun, in our jackets, hands in our pockets, for the entire parade and loved it.

There was a good mix of marching bands and floats with lots of different Shriners' clubs entertaining with their scooters, motorcycles, toy cars and larger hobby cars. It seemed that each new group that came along was in or on a larger, more expensive vehicle. And they all were having fun, darting in and out, waving to the crowd. Lots of boys with their toys.

The bands were in town for the Band Tattoo which got under way at 2 pm at the Community Centre Arena. I have never sat through a band tattoo--who knows how it got its name?--but this one was well worth the sit. For over three hours bands of all kinds (listed below with info on each one) entertained the good-sized crowd. I loved the Preston Scout House Alumni Band with its huge numbers, precision marching and excellent playing. I did wonder why they don't lose the tiny shorts on the conductor and the flag carriers, though. The Burlington Teen Tour Band was excellent as well, as a large, uniform group. The Salvation Army Band made me think of Friday nights on Woodstock's main street with the band playing hymns on corners as I went with one of my parents to one shop or another.

So Victoria Day in Woodstock was great for us. Especially as it didn't rain!

Shoes At Our Door

My full and varied life sometimes keeps me away from my blog but I keep my camera going when I can to brighten up my snatches for my readers. Below I've captured two pair of shoes in a picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words composition.

Obviously a little one was here. That little one was our precious 14-month-old granddaughter who brought her mommy here for a week's wonder at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Beth is known to many of you but if you want to refresh your memory, link to her blog.

Starting to feel sentimental and sappy, I took the picture the day before they left us, but it didn't stop me tearing up a couple of times the next day after leaving them at the airport in Toronto. Having them half a continent away is hard for all of us, but rather than boring everyone with that obvious glitch, I'll tell you of our time together.

We took Chelsea walking to the new park a couple of blocks from our condo and she did not disappoint. I'm not sure whether the teeter totter, the baby swing, the small slide or the older kids playing there could compete with her joy at just walking and running on the fledgling grass, but it was all fun for us. At only 14 months she kept us running after her for most of the time. I so loved watching her delight in absolutely everything. We adults get jaded but to Chelsea the world is a miracle unfolding just for her.

Her grandfather bought a large beach ball and we all took turns bouncing it for her and to her and even right into her. She squealed and waved her hands, knocking the ball about the room. Not sure I should be teaching her that but no damage this time. Now she better not do it with a baseball!

Riding in the car is the only time Chelsea slows down. Restraints don't seem to bother her as long as the ride isn't too long. She is happy to sit and stare as the world passes her by out the back window of the car. Soon her seat will be turned and she'll be able to see the front seat. Won't that be fun?

The parade of visitors all got the same show. First Chelsea stuck pretty close to her mother or to me. Even Grandpa was acceptable (she's going through a mommy-only phase just now) until she got comfortable with the visitors. Waiting her out was really worthwhile for them as she soon was laughing and running with them. Oh, to be that happy!

So, this is our Chelsea. High-spirited, funny, bright-eyed and full of life. And oh, did I mention completely beautiful? Thank goodness we have loads of new pictures to fawn over until we hold her in our arms again.

Waiting and Hoping

Three hundred and seventy-six pages, about 102,000 words, and a lot of loving work--here is my first novel: Loyal to the Crown.

I have the final revised novel out to eight previewers and am somewhat on pins and needles. My work over two years is out there, not for the world to see yet, but certainly for a wider circle than just me. I have talked about this writing project with my family but have not really given them much to read, except for the first chapter to my daughter for her opinion on a problem I was having.

So here I am. Waiting. Waiting to hear from the helpful and ambitious previewers. Hopeful. Hopeful that they will have good suggestions and give the work close scrutiny. Of course, I want them to love it but I also want them to be truthful with their comments. This is a tightrope for them to walk, I know, but necessary.

I gave my work to my husband a few days ago with instructions just to read and enjoy it. I didn't really want to put him in a critical position because that would be difficult for both of us. Well, he read it in a couple of days, rushing back to it whenever he had a free moment, and now we talk about specifics and he can see what I've been doing for two years. Last night he made a special point of coming to me and telling me he was proud of my accomplishment. Pretty nice. Think I'll keep that guy!

Over the two years of researching, writing, revising, taking courses, forming a writing group, and bringing this book to its current place in my world, I have changed. My whole life I have been outwardly confident, full of strength and vitality but inwardly too shy to talk of my composing or writing forays. Well, that has all changed. Not long ago I even filled out a form and listed my occupation as 'writer'.

While waiting my typing fingers are not idle. I have an idea for a sequel to "Loyal to the Crown" and am starting to put my thoughts into rough notes. Also I have a memoir in mind, some parts of which I have already thought out as well. Now I am going to get back to the business (and fun!) of writing. Wish me luck, please.

A parting shot--the new 23" monitor my husband bought me on the weekend!

Susan Boyle Sings Into History

This morning my husband told me he had sent me a you tube video that was amazing. Since he mentioned it a couple of times, as soon as I sat with my breakfast at my computer I opened the link. Incredible! Susan Boyle, an unknown 47-year-old from Scotland absolutely stunned the studio crowd watching Britain's Got Talent, and the cynical, smart-mouthed Simon Cowell broke into a broad smile which only left his face when his chin dropped in utter amazement. Way to go, Susan.
I've now listened to Susan enough times that her solid throaty voice rings in my ears and her down home smile, frumpy hair, kind smiling eyes and yellow taffeta dress have become iconic. This unemployed woman now has a career.
The studio audience was unkind in its laughter at Susan when she appeared and as she answered Simon's questions. Play the link above and you'll see. But as soon as the music rang out and Susan started to sing, mouths gaped and hands began to applaud all over the hall. How quickly the crowd can change its mind. I thought of the inate ability humans have to recognize quality in others. For all our cynicism, our worldliness, our snappy, jaded comments, when something really good comes along, we SEE it. We drop our put-on personalities and we give a genuine response.
Susan, you seem like a lovely, ordinary, wonderful lady who has lived life simply. You've never even been kissed! How fantastic that this miracle should occur for you. And good for you for having the guts to face down that negative vibe in the studio and sing for your life. Oh, yes. That's what you did, because your life will never be the same again. That voice will be heard all over the world. Yay, Susan!

Swan River

A week or so ago, on a sunny Sunday, Ron and I decided to take a drive to Stratford and do our usual circle walking around the beautiful Avon river. It has so many wonderful memories for us that whether the day is cold or hot, sunny or 'seasonal', we love to get out and hoof it.
Imagine how happy we were to arrive by chance about a half hour before the annual trooping of the swans, a regular spring thing for Stratforders. We tried to join in last year last year but on the appointed day the river was still covered with ice, leaving no place for the swans to, well, troop.
We started our walk on the far bridge heading for the less-traveled path on the far side of the river.

Can you see that spring is just itching to get out and green up here?

And this big old tree elicited some discussion between us as to what its age might be. Do you have a guess? Oops, sorry. I don't know the answer.

We made our way over to the more popular side and found ourselves in huge crowds. This kid up in the tree reminded me of Zacheus, short fellow that he was, scrambling up in a tree to have a better view of Jesus.

We stood in the three-deep crowd for a few minutes and waited but I didn't like the tight standing room. There would be no place for me to get an unobstructed picture of the swans when they finally waddled their way down the street to the river. We moved away from the crowds and stood looking back for the swans.

Here they come! Oh, it's only one. Is that all there is? People around us were disappointed.

Then the black pair set sail and the show started in earnest.

That got things going and a whole, well, troop of swans tumbled into the river. Yay!

It was like the waltz of the sugar plum fairies, only on the water. Now I understand the term Swan Lake!

Amazingly a few of the swans paired up. Someone near said there are only three or four pairs allowed on the river. As the others pair off apparently they are moved to other water places to prevent fighting among them all for supremacy. Ah, the swans are just like people. Too many cooks in the kitchen, etc.

We moved to the little bridge access to the island and the swans just kept swimming, heading for who knows where.

A number of them couldn't keep from swishing their wings and trying to fly, but of course their wings would be clipped to keep them from leaving the Avon. They are a big tourist attraction.

I tried to get this centre pair doing the heart swan picture thing, with their two heads together, but wasn't successful.

Are they not magnificent? So stately and serene. Just makes me relax to watch them.

And here the whole gang got in a flurry to fly in their joy to be out on the river again.

Come swim with me, they seemed to be saying.

Oh, I want to take right off! Watch me, guys!

The larger view.

And we continued on our walk, accompanied this time and for the rest of the summer by the swimming swans under the beauteous blue sky.

If you haven't yet found Statford, Ontario, put it on your bucket list. Oh, and you might love the fabled Stratford Festival Theatre located adjacent to this natural joy.

Support Our Troops

No, I don't have a yellow sticker on my car and I'm not actively haranguing people in support of our troops. But I do have a stake in it. Last night we had a wonderful surprise when the phone rang and we were invited to my sister's for an impromptu party. Andrew had surprised them by popping in suddenly--along with his wife, Tamsin--for a couple of days here in Ontario before they return to New Brunswick and he ships out for his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Of course we jumped at the chance to have this goodbye with them all.
Andrew is a wonderful young man in the first fresh bloom of life, with a laughing and vibrant wife--a nurse--and thousands of plans for the future. He is happy to be doing his tour in Afghanistan helping the Afghani people achieve their freedom. Quite candidly he discussed his part in the mission. He is part of a special unit to find explosives and detonate them and feels he has been well trained to do that. I pray that is so.
He stands tall and blonde, strong and vital but readily stoops to enfold me in one of many hugs that evening. He has never been shy about sharing his feelings, one of his many endearing qualities. His blue eyes smile, too, as he talks and listens. I watch him across the table, drinking in his confidence and his love of life and joy at being with his family. Oh, how we all care for him!
At the end of the evening for my husband and I, we try to think of something appropriate to say, something really meaningful to leave with him, but for once my words fail me and I have to be content with holding and hugging him for the last time before he goes. Eight months, he says, until his tour is over. My sisters and I have planned a girls' drive to New Brunswick to see his wife, Tamsin, in June and that helps a bit. I cannot imagine how she is facing this, newly wed in February, but the strength in both her and Andrew helps us all.
And so now I have a really personal stake in supporting our troops. A day will not go by that we do not think of our nephew so far away walking with death every day, believing that he is one of the lucky ones and will come back safe to us. Support Our Troops. With your tax dollars, your good wishes and your prayers.

Three Best Things Again

At night when I put aside my book, turn out my bedside light and lie on my back for just a few moments, I let the day wash over me. I think of all the good things that happened, that made me smile. Of course the day usually had some bad things, too, but I try to let them go and concentrate on the good. And it works.

Last night I thought of how much I enjoy the Cantabile Ladies Choir and my membership in it. I am the oldest by far but that is part of the fun. I can listen to all those younger--some, MUCH younger--voices and match my sound to them. During breaks, the chatter is of jobs and kids, hit songs and movies, babysitting and babysitters, with nary a word about aches and pains, groans and grouches. They keep me young. And at last night's practice, when I didn't sing because of my cold, I got a chance to just listen. It was lovely. A marvel to me, though, was how much I missed hearing my own voice with the rest.

Before I went to sleep I also thought back to our short visit with our son yesterday when he took time from working on computers, video conference units and networking to just sit and chat for about 20 minutes. Like so many he is struggling in this economic climate and his health has been rotten the last few months. I don't think there is a cold or flu bug that he hasn't harbored this winter. Nevertheless, he keeps going working out the way of his life--with his wife and son--for the next few months. He is always thinking, always planning, always doing what's best. We are so blessed.

And the third thought that came to me was my novel and the way it has opened my life, changed my life for the better, and is nearing completion. Oh, I finished the first draft a year ago but now I am honing in on the final copy. This long, hard process has changed me. I thought last night about the fact that now I talk openly about my writing, about my hopes for it, about the process, about the hard work, about the dedication needed to get where I am going with it. And I have found many others who understand. So many, in fact, that when I talk to those who don't answer or can't relate I realize that has nothing to do with me and I shouldn't worry about it. Here I am, 62, and I finally don't worry about what other people think. My Eureka! is a little late coming but it's brightening my life anyhow.

I wonder what today's three, four, five, twenty zillion best things will be?

Spencer Gorge/Webster's Falls Visit

On Saturday last my husband and I were looking for some manifestation of spring and found ourselves near Webster's Falls with our hiking shoes. This lovely area encompasses Spencer Gorge, Webster's Falls and Tews Falls and connects to the Bruce Trail. On our trek we found that connection and plan to explore it some other day.
We started up a trail new to us--the Tews Falls trail--and this was the first lovely view that rewarded all our climbing.

There is a handy viewing platform overlooking Tews Falls with this irresistible crook-armed tree.

Well, Ron couldn't resist, anyhow.


Back along the gorge trail someone had set up a camera on a rocky outcropping.


And this is the lovely Tews Falls, a controlled torrent of water dropping off the stone cliffs spraying everything so far below. Notice there was still lots of icy snow on the sunless side of the gorge.


We hiked back down the trail, through the parking lot, and over to Webster's Falls, about a 15 minute walk. First we viewed from above. There are people on the viewing platform in the distance.


On the path down to the falls a little girl ran past us to the frantic calls of her mother but she was chasing her hot pink balloon which rolled just out of her reach all the way down the curved gravelly trail. We crossed the bridge below and I sneaked in a picture before heading for the falls.


This time I took no pictures of the falls as we've done that so many times before. Instead we went right for the lower trail. Here is the steep stairway down. Not too bad, eh?


The second half looks like this! Yikes! (It reminded me of part of the Great Wall of China that we walked at Simatai with Beth about ten years ago.) But we made it to the bottom although I had a few misgivings along the way.


I put Ron in this picture to get some colour into this winter-killed scenery.


And he took me for the same reason. See the gorgeous Webster's Falls behind? And the last winter snow piles?


I noticed a little girl standing under this small waterfall delighting in the spray. I imagine it was pretty cold, but we Canadians are really ready for spring.


Part of the trail was washed out and I tested out this weathered plank someone had put across before I moved onto it.


We discovered that the river was so full just now that the trail ended not far beyond as the water covered it fully.
Back up top I caught this pair of elderly hikers in their bright jackets at the spot just before the waters pour over the falls.

This one is taken from the bridge above. I love the steps of water approaching the falls.

I zoomed in and caught this couple right near the falls.

We finally walked back up the trail toward the parking lot but not before I caught a few more pictures of the wonderful water and the people enjoying it. Nature just fills up my sorrowing soul sometimes.

You can find this lovely Ontario conservation area on the web via several links but I have given you one here. Enjoy!