Embarcadero

Another rift in the space time continuum and I felt myself transported through time – I imagined a famous German Philosopher reclining in a bar and sharing his ideas with time travellers such as myself.

Then we were tossed into a volcanic dust cloud – and lost in a dream of puffy clouds and ice-caps.

When I regained consciousness I was facing a cold rain, overcast skies, and buses rescheduled to accommodate late arriving fellow explorers from the furthest reaches of Greenland. I am back, or forward, now - to where I once began in the heart of south-western Ontario; back amongst my own Tribe of Scottish and German descended peoples who more-or-less look the same, have the same blue eyes, the same flat voices, and for whom grey skies, rain, and cold walks along wooded trails remain a past and present experience.

The colonial traditions live here still – many years after I used to sing “God Save the Queen" before morning classes in public school. There is a Victoria park in every town . . . .

. . . and a grey sombre rock somewhere in town to remind us of sacrifices on battlefields far away.

The region was opened for settlement fairly late in North American history. A loyalist settler from Massachusetts made his way up the Thames River until he found a spot with several streams flowing down to the river from surrounding hills.

Streams meant power for mills and so a site for a settlement was chosen. In present time, the old mill sites are in ruin – but the streams still flow.

Today, the quiet remains as industrial ages have come and gone and residents have only just begun to reverse a migration which took them away to other cities and countries. The iron rails that took away youth to nearby Toronto may yet bring them back to the modern efficiency of a place where one can walk across the entire town in 20 minutes.