The Long and Winding Road
It was July 2nd, 2014. The day before I had been a patriotic Canadian, celebrating Canada Day with friends and a BBQ, in the Capital. But July 2nd I was pulling out of the driveway in the red Toyota Corolla loaded with my personal belongings, some houseware goods, and of course CDs. Hugs and kisses for Dale and Rod as I headed north and west to a new job and a new adventure.
I had taken a position in Northern Ontario and I was moving to Thunder Bay. My first overnight would be Sudbury. I had done road trips by myself before but usually they were within a day’s drive. I had not done a road trip alone since before the kids were born, over 30 years earlier, and then very infrequently. This road trip was to be the beginning of a five-year commitment and so there was a very different weight on my shoulders.
As I rolled onto Highway 17, my first stop was coffee with younger son Justin, who was with his girlfriend visiting buddies in Renfrew. Justin is a road trip aficionado and made sure I had water and a snack before I resumed my lone journey. He also threw me a pack of matches,
“They come in handy Mom, keep them in the glove compartment”, he smiled and gave me a kiss. I think I still have the matches.
And that was it. After 39 years of marriage, two kids, I was moving to a place on my own. It felt exciting and scary, with lots of unknowns.
CBC kept me company, as I hit the little communities on Highway 17. Petawawa, one of Canada’s military bases, my mind wandered to my upbringing, a service ‘brat’ as we were called. My dad was in the Air Force, I had lived on a base in a small community in Southern Ontario, not very different from Petawawa, tight and well serviced, familiar territory. Then the communities of Chalk River and Deep River, only 10 km apart, they served as Canada’s nuclear power zone, until very recently. A good friend had grown up in Deep River, her dad was a scientist at the Chalk River Nuclear Plant. Once home to Canada’s contribution to the Manhattan Project, the power plant is a shadow of itself these days. My friend, Judy, passed away at an early age, from cancer, when we were at McGill. I thought of her stories about the wilderness and canoeing on the Ottawa River from her backyard in Deep River. I wondered what had become of her Chestnut Canoe, one of the last to have been crafted from the factory in Fredericton.
The great Canadian Shield began to edge itself into my view, as I rimmed the borders of Algonquin Park. The CBC commentator began to waver and crackle, “weather for Sud…, … North …” the voice trailed off, static, then silence. I switched the CD player on,
“I got the urge for going …” perfect, Joni Mitchell, in her strange melodic contralto voice, filled the void. I had been anxious to get on the road and jump into this new adventure and now I was on my way.
