Ties that bind.........

“This land is your land, This land is my land,
From Bonavista, to Vancouver Island
From the Arctic Circle to the Great Lakes waters,
This land was made for you and me.”
The US version written in 1944 by Woody Guthrie; bastardized by the Candian group, The Travelers in 1955


Ontario's Provincial flower, the white trillium; when it starts to die, it turns pink.



Between Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York the highway hugs the Lake Erie shore and it's not a particularly good road but they still expect you to pay for it and that was just the beginning of it. A series of bridges both sides of the border came with a price tag too. In total, we put out about $30.


Our destination campground in Toronto which is the only one in or near the city is on the eastern border of Toronto where it joins Pickering. As we didn't want to cross the city at rush hour, we stayed in Hamilton for our first night back in Canada. Does anyone ever stop at Hamilton if they don't have business or family there? I don't think so! It's a highly industrialized city bringing to mind '1984' with its dismal setting and the miles of ugly stacks belching acrid smoke. The impression one's left with is a grey city in an amber haze. My lungs dealt badly with the smog, wheezing and straining for clean air which there was none of. We stayed at Walmart which thankfully was up and over the high ridge which separates the commercial/industrial and lower end residential from the more upscale homes. The smog though knows no class distinction and creeps up and over the ridge smothering the countryside for many miles. We geocached and explored but found no saving graces in Hamilton. It is what it is!


I mapped out our entry to Toronto carefully because with Maggie and our tow car totalling 49 feet in length, dealing with too many lane changes is very stressful ...... and the 401 Trans Canada Highway calls for continuous changes. “Oh, look at this highway #407 skirting the north side of the city. It's perfect!” I exclaimed. It was comfortably away from the built up area and only added a few extra miles to our journey.

It's hard to believe that this is Lake Ontario!

A sign at Burlington just as we were about to enter 407 warned 'ETR' (Express Toll Route) but no prices and no restrictions were noted. It was too late to change our minds so we figured on maybe another $15. The highway was lovely with light traffic and a smooth surface; that should have made us suspicious. As we progressed, signs stated that those without transponders would be billed. No worries there! We travelled the 407 from one end to almost the other end and then it was just five miles south through quiet countryside to Glen Rouge Park and campground which is run by the City of Toronto. It's a beautiful serene oasis in the cement jungle, the multi-lane 401 skirting its south end. Fifty feet in, we forgot we were anywhere near the city. It's tucked into a hollow carved through the hills by the Rouge River.


It was a couple of days later that we checked online to see what toll cost we'd be faced with. I miss my Verizon high speed stick so much but it quit at the border. When will there be an affordable service that covers both countries? But I digress – back to the toll. I finally found the website and there was a calculator to tally the price. I entered the size of our vehicle, where we entered the highway, where we exited and the time of day. It came up to $39 at 35 cents a kilometre PLUS a $50 charge for not having a transponder which if you have a large vehicle is mandatory. Now that just doesn't make sense and it certainly isn't fair. I PROTEST!

I don't know this dog, but I wish I did.

We settled ourselves in for eleven days – what a treat! To sleep in, watch television in bed in the morning, and not move on every day or so. It was heaven! I guess every three months we need to slow down our pace and recharge our batteries – Maggie's too.


I hadn't realized how different Canadians are from Americans especially older Southerners as opposed to Torontonians. What a contrast. On our first night with our son, David and his family, we all walked over to their local 'fish 'n chip' shop for dinner. A popular spot, we had to line up for twenty minutes or so which gave us a good look at the other customers. A mostly older clientele, the 'ladies' were neatly put together, their hair in tightly coiffed curls instead of big blowsy, blowaway, blonde mops; just a touch of colour on their lips instead of puffy collagened irridescent pink pouters; sensible brogues instead of Nikes, Crocs or flip-flops; conservative suits and blouses with scarves and pearls accesorizing, instead of sweat pants, jeans and tshirts; and finishing off the look, tidy little handbags instead of big and bulky carryalls. Obviously the British influence is strong in Toronto with the older generation – the Queen would be proud. I'm obviously more American in style as I've hardly been out of my jeans recently, but then the west coast is more casual. While waiting, I engaged several people in conversation and was amused at how they measured their words before responding quietly and carefully. As opposed to most southerners who are impulsive and boisterously outgoing. Our waitress was a big, strapping woman with a terse and surly demeanour. I asked for lemon in my water twice and never got it. Give me the “How're y'all doin'?” and “What can I getcha honey?” from the American waitresses any day. However, the fish and chips were lip-smacking delicious. Hmmm, I've just sketched out a couple of stereotypes...hope they don't offend anyone.

Our daughter-in-law Janet is a natural born cook and she prepared some wonderful and innovative dishes for us. I call her the 'kitchen goddess'. I'm always in awe because my idea of a home cooked meal is a bag of Bertolli all-in-one pasta where you heat up the wok, put in a bit of olive oil, add bag of 'stuff', stir and heat for about ten minutes. Voila! Add a bit of freshly grated parmesan and it's terrific. Another great 'living in your RV' meal, is a barbecued chicken from Costco, an arugula salad and Idoahan instant mashed potatoes. Ohhhhhh.......can I hear you all groaning out there? And some of you even saying 'Poor Fernie'..... but don't waste your sympathies because he loves it. This trip, we even discovered (thanks to our granddaughter, Myffy) Aunt Jemima pancakes. No more 'from scratch'. I don't have that much time left to spend it on something I hate.


There is no more enjoyable age than eleven or twelve, for a girl in particular before they go through the
'teenage' transformation. I always said that like Sleeping Beauty, girls should be put to sleep when they turn thirteen and woken at nineteen. Myffy (Myfanwy) is eleven and a delightful and stimulating companion. We picked her up from school daily; sometimes we geocached (she loves it), or went to a movie or had her to stay overnight in the motorhome. She's on a softball team and had a game one evening. It was 'deja vu' taking me back 34 years to when our daughter, Tracey (Myffy's aunt) was a pitcher for her team – as is Myffy today.


The latest addition to the family is Molly, a one year old Cairn Terrier, closely related to the Westie. She was the best medicine for us; we took her over Caesar's toys, balls and bones and it brought back memories of Caesar when he was young as she attacked and chased and pulled. She's a cyclone ball of flying blonde hair, two little black ears and a smudgy dark face peeking out under the blonde bangs. If they'd turned their backs, we'd have kidnapped her in an instant.

The eleven days flew by in a whirr and it was time to head home. My heart was a leaden lump as we drove away from Toronto. Only a mother can understand the pain of leaving her offspring no matter how old they are, wondering how long it will be before we see them again. Myffy will be flying out to Vancouver to spend a couple of weeks with us in July so that eased the pain somewhat.



Westward Ho!