On the flight back to Ottawa last night, we passed over the island in Lake Ontario where my parents live. How fragile those small beaches and cargo ships looked, though I knew how large they are in real life. "Home" I muttered as I looked at the thin wedge of sandbars dotting the west side of Quinte's Isle.
Funny I should think that. I never lived there. They moved after I grew up. But I do think of it as home in some way.
The plane headed north, over the thousands of lakes that dot Eastern Ontario. They're home too - I know their life well, a hundred summers of outboard motorboats dashing up and down lakes with waterskiiers, or trolling the twenty foot depths for pickerel as fishermen drink beer and fight off mosquitoes.
Perhaps the whole province is home to me. I can feel at ease in any place that I have so much affection for.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
Flying home
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2 comments:
I feel the same way about Texas. It's huge....but once I'm in the state lines I'm home. It's like I know how things work, I know the rules. Sounds odd.
Sounds odd, but I do think I get it :-)
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