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My parents used to take me, but not my sister, for autumn walks on the rural country roads of Bentinck Township. Although we might have gone in the summer, I mostly remember the autumn leaves.
Cape Croker, an Indian Reserve and Conservation Area on the Bruce Peninsula north of Wiarton, Ontario, was a place we visited only a handful of times. However, one of my fondest memories was hiking back to the glacial rocks and enjoying a picnic lunch from plastic containers and wrap. I still remember the large picnic bag with its black, white, and pink flower pattern, the plastic see-through salt/pepper shaker, and the small plastic drinking cups in pastel colors. We would find a picnic table under the shade trees along the rocky shore of the Bay. Our activities included hiking through the nearby forest, building rock piles along the shore, and wading in the usually cold water of the Bay. One time, I picked a red Indian paintbrush flower from the roadside and placed it on the front seat's edge from the back. We went for a hike, and when we returned, the flower had vanished. I searched everywhere inside the car to find it, but it had just disappeared. I wondered if the spirit of the elders had reclaimed it. I guess we'll never know. The park was also where my fingers got trapped in the car door. I was in the back seat, and my fingers were in the way of the closing door for some reason. It slammed on my fingers and trapped them between the door and the frame. It was the first of three times my fingers were trapped in this manner, twice in a car door frame and once under a collapsed display at work. Years later, in my early 30s, I went back to Cape Croker to camp in the beautiful natural surroundings. It was an awesome experience that began with a police escort, but I'll write about that another time.
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July 2023
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