If there is one thing that can ease the stress of being stranded by a surprise winter storm when traveling, it is getting to hang out with folks who are great storytellers.
This was the lucky situation for me last week when traveling to Fort Frances. After a bumpy landing in Thunder Bay amid blustery seventy-kilometer per hour winds, it was a quick ride to a hotel with the hopes of getting a room. Many other travelers had the same plan. The Trans-Canada Highway heading west was closed as was the 350 kilometer stretch of road to Fort Frances.
A friend and her parents were in town and I was hitching a ride with them back to Fort. With rooms secured, we gathered for drinks, ordered take out dinner and hunkered down for the night. After getting comfortable and catching up, our chat got around to the stories of Jan and Rob’s adventures on Rainy Lake at Fort Frances. Both are in their eighties and have lived and worked on the lake their whole lives as did generations of family before them.
Rob launched into dozens of stories from their relatives’ history on the lake as well as his and Jan’s years of working in remote camps and lodges. The couple, along with their children, hosted and guided tourists looking for wilderness experiences. He happily shared, what I suspect were, often-told tales of encounters with wildlife, their kids’ antics, famous guests and the numerous lifelong friendships they have made throughout the years. There was also a story or two that their daughter had not heard before or had forgotten about.
We stayed up way too late but it was a wonderful, memorable night.
After lunch the following day we headed out of town with fingers crossed that the parts of the road still closed would be open by the time we reached them. Transport trucks pulling out of roadside stops en masse were a hopeful sign. Within a few miles we turned south toward Fort where we passed the one and only sign cautioning drivers that there is no fuel available for the next couple of hundred kilometers.
The bulk of the snow from the storm the day before had fallen in this area. It was a winter wonderland. Snowfall on the pine trees resembled giant white ostrich feathers and smaller snow- covered shrubs provided what looked like white coral reefs along the ditches. Sunshine illuminated the snow, creating endless shadows and melting any remaining ice and slush from the pavement.
I was enjoying the drive and my own trip down memory lane, recalling my first trip on this road forty-five years ago when hubby and I were starting out. Over the years, we explored many areas of vast, remote and sparsely populated northwestern Ontario. This was a long overdue trip and I was eager to visit with old friends. It felt a lot like coming home.
Before they dropped me where I would be staying for the week, there were promises from all of us to work on capturing family stories. I hope we find ways to document our families’ histories.
The nine-year-old granddaughter of my host had posted on Facebook, a few days earlier, the title page of a story she had written. A budding entrepreneur, she was trying to find a buyer for her eight-page story. ‘The Secrets of Last Island’ was all about her favourite things at the family cabin. I brought her some journals and a package of my favourite pens, hoping to encourage her.
Imagine what a treasure her stories would be if she started at this early age.
