My Summer Vacation

 "My summer vacation." Remember the moment the teacher presented that writing prompt on the first day back at school in September? No? Me neither. We were farm kids. She knew not to ask. Our families didn't vacation. Vacation was a self-starting, free-ranging adventure across acres of fields, forest and bayshore. 

Pitts Landing, Madoc

 I'm taking a break from foreign travel posts today - I   have a dozen Croatia stories in draft form - to savour   a week I've recently enjoyed in a nostalgic summer   cabin in the Madawaska Valley, which began life at a   cottage resort operating from the 1930s to 2017 -   evolving all the while as guests' tastes and   expectations changed over the decades.

My hosts told stories of the way it used to be, tiny guest sleeping cabins, a main building offering showers and three hearty linen service meals a day prepared by local women, lazy days on the long lawn stretching down to the sand beach on a warm shallow lake.  A community, a summer family, to which people would return year after year. Simpler times, we're fond of saying, but it's true. A summer colony.

My cottage for the week was one of the original sleeping cabins, extended and modernized into a delightful small home from home by my hosts.

Do their stories bring back the coming of age movie Dirty Dancing, wholesome chummy Kellerman's Resort and the 'too old for this' daughter? In case you're nostalgic, here's the Kellerman's anthem from the film, thanks to YouTube. (Incidentally, Kellerman's is still operating!)

The Madawaska visit, and my hosts Janet and Donald's stories resonated for me, releasing a flood of summer memories.

Lakelands - courtesy PEC Archives

My visit took me back to summer jobs ar two family resorts in Prince Edward County. One, called Lakeland Lodge is now only a picnic spot in Sandbanks Provincial Park. There are panels with photos of 'the way it used to be.'  I remember the main lodge, a dining room, not fancy, but still shining dark floors, white tablecloths and silverware, curtains blowing in the breeze off the lake. I got only brief glimpses; I was kitchen staff. I remember the cook, an impressive woman, who made the most delicious chocolate sauce, a rare treat. In lodges like these, kitchen staff were often farmers' wives getting paid for work they 'trained for' cooking gigantic meals for itinerant farm help, the celebrated 'threshers'. Indeed, the owners were farm people too. Here's a post I wrote about Lakelands on my now retired blog AncestralRoofs and here's an account with photos.

2012 - the old restaurant, dance hall already demolished 

  My next summer job, at Lake on the Mountain   Resort, had tiny cabins on the lake, a dining hall, and   lots of history, including an unfortunate racially   motivated bother on the occasion of a visiting dance   band in the 40s or 50s. By my time the dance hall   had evolved into a cafe with soda fountain, a la carte   fare and a juke box with dance floor. But still, we   had a farm wife cook - and a good one too. By that   time I had graduated to harried waitress. And now   LOM has become a 'destination.' 

  I researched and wrote a story on summer lodges in Hastings County for the vanished magazine Country  Roads, July 2016. Thank you Nancy Hopkins, it was a joy to work for you. I met Grant and Gayle who ran a family style tourist lodge, Pitts Landing near Madoc. The summer colony had evolved from a farmhouse offering accommodation to visiting fishermen into providing small cabins which became privately owned family cottages, second and third generation family returning to spend their summers at the lake. Memories upon memories. 

(If you follow the Country Roads link, and read to the end of the article you'll find the Pitt/Ketcheson cottage story.)  Gayle has given me permission to share these photos of the property.  

I've always been fascinated by the early days of summer holidays, the late 1800s - when folks travelled long distances (with trunks!) by train, excursion steamer and canoe or wagon to summer in Muskoka, Algonquin Park and idyllic spots like Bon Echo Lodge on Mazinaw Lake. That provincial park does a fine job of interpreting the era in their museum and on panels around the property. 

Many years ago, Prince Edward County lost an historic lodge of its ilk, Lakeshore Lodge (link takes you to my AncestralRoofs blog story.)  I've time travelled to cottage resorts at  Twelve O'Clock Point, Presqui'le point, Crowe and  Moira Lakes and so many more again this week, thanks to my little cottage holiday.

So, that's the way my mind worked as I sat in the yellow Muskoka chairs overlooking Lake Kamaniskeg last week. Find the 'Lakeside Cottage Getaway' on AirBnB. I know, tourist guilt. But no local accommodation was harmed in the creation of this retreat. 

Dubrovnik Unthroned

I may be the only person who is not a fan of the long-running HBO sensation Game of Thrones.

As far back as 2019 when my guy and I ventured up to the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland we were told that nearby medieval Dunluce Castle featured in the show. Lots of necks craning and phone cameras snapping. Mmmm. I like it for itself, not for what popular culture has made of it. And would love to have wandered alone among its ruins.

Here's some Dunluce history, including a possible connection to C.S.Lewis' Narnia.

So I was forewarned that Dubrovnik would have that additional layer - as if centuries of domination by powers from Rome to Venice to France to the Ottomans and Austro-Hungarians were not enough. Modern-day Dubrovnik may be collapsing under this final siege - the hoards of tourists of which I was a part for a day.

tiny Jesuit Stairs

And a number of these visitors came to spot and selfie the locations from their show. There's this phrase 'As seen on TV' which confers legitimacy onto dodgy kitchen tools and zirconian bling shilled by enthusiastic 80s shopping channel types. 'As seen in Game of Thrones' seems to have the same effect in Dubrovnik, Croatia.

 There are GoT fan shops where you can purchase official merchandise and sit on a real fake throne. 

Our guide pointed out the Baroque Jesuit Stairs - link included because their photos are lovely - which featured in an important scene in GofT.  We passed by in silence and I did not get to wander back to the area. Even in this tiny photo you may notice that the stairs are very clean. Turns out they were damaged in the '91-95 war, and have been since been fully restored. Here's a  newspaper account, and here is a photo taken from afar. 

All that being said, here are some Dubrovnik spots that had me enthralled. 

Dubrovnik is famed for the medieval defensive walls that surround the old city. 

This Wiki article contains photos I wish I had taken, and facts I won't include here, because they're there.

The photo below is of the Minceta Tower at the north of the wall's circuit of the city. It was begun in 1329 and expanded into its rounded form in 1464.

Minceta Tower

St. John's Fortress

This is St. John's fortress, begun 1346 expanded 16th century.

This is the medieval Pile Gate, one of 3 main gates in the city wall. This is my group, a fine bunch of people, part of the morning throng entering the city across the drawbridge and through the gate. 

The moat is dry now, crossed via a drawbridge. Below are gardens.

Dubrovnik's patron St.Blaise appears everywhere - here he is topping the Pile Gate, in a 1537 view. St. Blaise is credited with saving Dubrovnik in 971, by warning authorities of a sneak attack by Venetians intent on taking the city. Venice was like that in the day.

It was April when we visited, so although busy with types like us, the old city centre was not unbearable. Two more views of the wall, and this travelogue is ended. If you want more (I know I do) this is a good link with better photos than I was able to capture.

ramp leading out of the old city through the wall

I had planned to join the line of ants venturing to the top of the wall. My intention was to 'walk the wall', a mile and a half (largely stairs) walk around the perimeter of the old city atop the medieval walls. 

But I was tempted by an optional trip the following day, to two locations in Montenegro (a Solomon's choice to be sure) and didn't have my free solo day in Dubrovnik. So you'll have to rely on what Rick Steves has to say about it.

"In Praise of Limestone"

2008 Mammoth Caves, Ky.

I found this quote while looking around for karst inspiration. In his article in the Geographical Bulletin, Michael F. Goodchild, PhD in karst geomorphology, McMaster University, quotes poet W.H.Auden: "if there is one landscape that we ... are constantly homesick for, this is chiefly because it dissolves in water." This curious statement will strike a chord instantly with those among us who love a cave (for claustrophobic me, the larger the better.) 

Its reference is to the karst limestone landscape which underlies much of the world, and yields its wonders due to water's action on rock. To create awe-inspiring sculpture, to carve whole worlds below the surface, or to dissolve completely - the magic of karst limestone. It's outside of the scope of my enthusiam to explain karst topology adequately, but here's a workmanlike description thanks to Wikipedia (yes, I donate.)

Here is Auden's poem. I love the lines "a secret system of caves and conduits...springs (t)hat spurt our of everywhere with a chuckle..." That expresses what we felt as we waiting for our tour, in the woods above the river that burbled innocently past.

The cave system was discovered in 1818 by cave lamplighter Luka Cec, who ventured further than the grand cave which his team were preparing (with lighting) for a visit of the Austrian Emperor Franz I. The comment attributed to him: "Here is a new world, here is paradise" pretty much sums it up.

A significant karst landscape stretches from northeastern Italy along the shore of the eastern Adriatic to Kosovo. Part of this region invites the world underground at the magnificent Postonja Caves nature preserve in northern Slovenuia,  

And now we come  to the point of all this rambling. Just recently I was there. The Lubljana Caves are very popular, and brilliantly managed. On a busy May Day Sunday, we were shuttled into and out of the depths by a little yellow train, and led by a guide along the perfectly smooth pathways through the indescribable wonders of the caves. 

As we moved steadily along, it was dificult to stop and fully take in the scene before us. We were in semi-darkness as well, as lighting focussed on specific monumental features. 

This, to explain my less than compelling photos, which obviously don't do the place full justice.

My own area of Ontario features a miniature version, Hell Holes, near Napanee. Sadly, the area closed in 2020 and I haven't heard it has, or will, reopen.   

We discovered that it was aptly named when my mosquito-phobic man and I visited ages ago. We entered the cave paths, joining clouds of mosquitoes that eventually saw Den running pell-mell out of the area, leaving me alone with the bugs who loved me less, and the little rock formations. 

Another, more salubrious journey to the centre of the earth came in Kentucky some years ago, as we returned from a vintage racing event at Barber Motorsports Park near Birmingham - the historic Mammoth Caves, the longest in the world. This video looks like the tour we took that day.

Here are some other cave wonders of the world, in Mexico, China and Ukraine.

 The ground under our feet is not as solid as we tend to believe. 

As our tour manager Michael said "the earth is beautiful, inside and out."

You Can't Take the Girl off the Farm

 There's an old expression: "You can take the boy off the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the boy."  Clearly, this applies to girls as well. When my brother and I get together, we inevitably end up sharing memories of growing up on our family farm. For our father's generation, farm life meant hard work and early responsibilities. For us, farm life meant freedom.

On my recent trip, I had a secret laugh on several occasions, in Slovenia and again in Italy, as outside my bus window, my window on the world, local farmers continued to do what they had always done. And I suspect I was the only interested observer.

 On the neat productive valley farms of Slovenia, remarkable after the hard-scrabble interior regions of Croatia that we had just crossed, I watched farmers cutting hay crops, an early harvest according to the calendar at home.

But most intriguing for me was the Veneto countryside around Jesolo, the resort area where we stayed outside of Venice. This land is flat and low-lying, alluvial plain bordering the Adriatic to the south. I was enthralled by the absolute flatness of the land and intrigued by the many canals and ditches crossing it and the abandoned rural villas from earlier times.

This morning I found this somewhat technical paper, of interest to no-one but me, I would suggest. But it answered all my questions

Our guide Vanya explained some of the region's history. The Piave and Assonto rivers flow into the Adriatic in the area. During WWI, Ernest Hemingway served with the Red Cross in the Veneto region, and was badly wounded on the Piave River. The experience found its way into his novel A Farewell to Arms. 

I've just learned about 'the Hemingway Route,' an eleven km. circular itinerary that traces places devastated by the war in that area. Here's a booking link if this interests you.

Fish Face

 On our way to Mostar, our bus turned off the main highway and parked at the entrance to a narrow road at the base of a stunning cliff face. This stop was all about lunch, but the attractions of the little creekside spot were compelling. A more picturesque lunch spot could not have been imagined. We walked along a  lane lined with tempting vendors, phone-capturing appealing waterside structures in a rich green landscape. We crossed a bridge to a waterside restaurant, grateful for the awnings over our outdoor lunch spot, as rain was threatening. Above it all, almost too much to take in, the beautiful solid rock cliff face, an intriguing white building at its foot.

I don't recall anyone mentioning the place, but a bit of detective work here at home has added to my delight at my memories. This place was Blagaj, in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The white building is Blagaj Tekije, a Dervish monastery, built around 1520. Its architecture combines Ottoman and Mediterranean styles. It's considered a national monument. At the foot of the rock face is the source of the Buna river. 

 

The restaurant is called Restauran Vrelo. Here's their website if you would like to make a reservation. It also contains a few photos that describe the place better than mine do.

On the way along the river toward the restaurant, I wondered at the water feature below. When the plates were served, it became clear. They were trout ponds, and these perfectly seasoned little fellows were the result. Unaccustomed as I am to taking photos of my food, I didn't capture their sweet little faces. But I surely did enjoy the rest of them, along with traditional potatoes and kale.

We ate very well on this trip. I am grateful to the 15 to 18K steps we did each way, or I would have had to go jeans shopping on my return!

Last Tango in Venice

 In 1995, my dear one and I visited Venice for the first time. In person. In my imagination I had been wandering the calle, dreaming along the canals, and gazing dumb-struck at the architecture since my first encounter with them in art history classes a lifetime ago. I returned in 2023 with a congenial group, several of whom have become friends and travelling companions.

1995

On our 1995 trip, Den and I travelled by train from Padua, and took a vaporetto along the Grand Canal, every step a research project, to St. Mark's Square  - an introduction I shall never forget. 

In 2023 our tour group travelled by boat from the end of the road to enter the lagoon. Last week our Venice day began with a boat trip from Punta Sabbioni, a 45 minute water voyage offering yet another approach to the unforgettable skyline of this city.

Last week's visit was my first visit in sunshine - the sparkle on the water will stay with me forever. For this is my last visit. As fellow traveller Amar said, the world is large and the list is long. 

The one item on my to-do list for this visit was to find a square that meant a great deal to me; a place Den and I found refuge from the crowds on that long-ago day visit -  Campo Bragora. The Church of San Giovanni in Bragora with its late-Gothic facade crowns a small square with several trees, an ancient well and a few welcoming benches. This the church where Antonio Vivaldi was baptised in 1678.

So, with that one plan, to find my way to that memory spot during the 'free time' later,  I settled in to enjoy our guided walking tour. 

Our lovely guide turned immediately right down a calle off the Riva Degli Schiavone and almost immediately we entered a square -  Campo Bragora. 

An emotional moment I hid by skipping about taking photos. Somehow I don't think things like this are accidental. Hi buddy.

I have a lot of stories to share from this most recent trip. This one is likely to be my favourite.

Oh to be in England....

 At a Westben choral concert recently a friend and I were reduced to soggy tears when Aemilia Moser and Dante Santone performed the sweet love song We'll Gather Lilacs in the Spring, written in the 1940s by Ivor Novello. It's a  sentimental WWII song; lovers, the fellow off to war, sing of their hopes and dreams of a peaceful 'after' with its gentle pleasures. Love, loss and longing. 

"We'll gather lilacs in the spring again/And walk together down a shady lane/Until our hearts have learned to sing again/When you come home once more."

Recently The Gentle Author, a daily staple on my morning reading list, visited the bluebells in Bow Cemetery. So I am being given a nudge to think about English bluebells. 

There's something about spring bloom - that longed-for loveliness, joy at the renewal of colour and beauty at the end of dark dormant winter. But it's a fleeting joy. Spring blossoms are delicate; their season is short. As with our glorious autumn foliage which blazes for such a short time, fresh spring flowering evokes for me a wistfulness and a kind of sadness.

I believe English bluebells also bloom in Ontario, but the spring beauties that stop my homie's heart are trout lilies, violets, jack in the pulpit and trilliums, the blooms that adults pointed out to me as a child who loved flowers. I remember having the mysterious jack revealed to me for the first time, on an Arbor Day school outing with Miss Eaton, a whole lifetime ago. From that day also, I carry with me the lifetime prohibition against picking a trillium. 

For me, bluebells will always evoke happy times, delighted springtime discoveries along delightful English pathways with dear ones who are no longer among us.

Love, loss and longing.