I went on two wonderful roadtrips this Thanksgiving weekend.  (although I am repenting for the speeding ticket... a rare lapse, I’m sure).  Charting the Grand River from end to end -- I spent Saturday heading to the where the wide Grand rolls into Lake Erie; I spent Monday driving steadily uphill to Dundalk, an elevated plateau where many of Southern Ontario’s rivers begin.

It was interesting to be able to stradle the banks of the river, one foot  on each bank.  Arden (now age 8) asked me if we still call it the Grand River up here, or whether it should be called “Grand Creek”.

We knocked on a few doors, collecting stories about people’s connections to the river.  Our best encounter was with Bev and Doris.  In their 80’s, they invited us into their kitchen and shared old memories as well as pioneer stories from their kin.  In my search for the river’s origins, we were also reaching far back in time.

Bev’s grandparents, carting all they owned toward an undeveloped plot of land, were waylaid by the swollen River in spring.  The mother, with two little children, stayed at a nearby homestead, while the father swam the river with the oxen to lay claim to their plot of land.

We’ll see whether this story feeds into a painting or not.  It was a good day.