Last weekend I took a solo road trip to eastern Ontario with a stop in Kingston to visit two of my sisters - then out to Westport to see my brother Phil and his wife Gwen in their new home there - and finally to Ottawa, where Ben and Jen and the kids participated in the Ottawa marathon road races.

Always - when I go to Westport - my mind drifts back more than 55 years ago. What do I remember? This………………………………..

Our family first went to Devil Lake in the early 70’s when my sister, Brenda and her husband, Ken, bought a lot on the lake - about 15 minutes from the village of Westport, just up the hill from Bedford Mills. I spent several weekends at the lake every summer from the time I was 12 or 13 - with my parents and brothers. Sometimes I would go myself and hang out with Brenda and the twins (when they were babies). Ken built a small cabin for their family to sleep in - while he was building the big cottage.

Fast forward to the spring of 1980.

Randy and I had just graduated from Tyndale and we had six weeks off before we would start our summer job directing a kid’s camp near Penetang, Ontario. In the fall we would begin full time ministry as associate pastor in Orillia at First Baptist Church. We had six weeks to kill. What to do?

My parents had recently bought the cottage next to Ken and Bren’s but had not yet winterized it so Randy and I asked them if we could live in it for the six weeks. They said yes!

No plumbing.

No heat.

No running water.

We snuggled in that bare bones cottage for 6 weeks and it was some of the finest weeks I’ve ever spent. We woke when the sun came up and went to bed went it got dark. Don’t judge us but we jumped into the freezing cold May waters of Devil lake to bathe. At that time of the year there was not a soul around. We canoed that lake every morning. Hours and hours. We watched the loons building their nest. We heard their haunting cries in the night if a predator happened to come near. We tried to get close to the turtles sunning on a log. One day we counted twenty or more of them warming themselves in the sunshine. In the afternoons we sat in the warm spring sunshine on the deck but if the rains came, we hunkered down in the cottage - under warm quilts. We drank cowboy coffee. We bbq’d. We got our water from the pump at the bottom of the hill near the little white Anglican church. We made quick trips to the outhouse. During black fly week, we hardly went outside.

All of a sudden it was June. The loon parents had two eggs in their nest. One of them was constantly on that nest while the other fished and offered warning calls. The whip-poor-wills came back and the whipped each evening. One night we counted 111 calls. We built fires and sat for hours under the stars - looking up to the heavens and talking about what it will be like to be there one day. Randy played his guitar and sang John Denver songs to me - night after night. We didn’t have a transistor radio so we had no clue who was winning the Stanley Cup playoffs. Maybe once a week we went into town for groceries and got some news. There were no cell phones in those days so a few times my parents drove out from Kingston to check on us to be sure we were “still alive”!

Fast forward 30 years! (2009-2010) Once again Randy and I found ourselves living in the Devil Lake area - this time - right in the village of Westport - once again living in my parent’s wee cottage. We were on sabbatical after 30 years in the local church ministry and quite frankly - our year in Westport was a year of happiness and bliss. Once again we lived simply. We hung out with friends at the coffee shop - we read book after book - I taught fitness in the basement of the Baptist church - we both ran endless numbers of kilometres around the village and countryside - training for 10kms and half marathons - Randy worked with a local handyman doing odd jobs around the village - we met new friends - and visited regularly with our eastern Ontario family.

Fast forward 4 more years to 2014…….when Randy collapsed and passed away so suddenly I told the kids that I didn’t know where to bury their Dad. We had pastored in Orillia, Listowel, Cambridge and Alliston but none of those places were permanent homes for us. As I prayed about this very important decision - it was like a light bulb went off and poof - the answer came - Westport. We had spent a year of rest there and now Randy would have his eternal rest in that quaint little villlage.

Last Friday as I drove from Kingston to Westport - I was overcome with nostalgia. I drove by the lakes where we spent endless hours canoeing with each other and our boys. I drove by the road that led to my parent’s cottage on “the hill”. After having lunch at my brother’s - I stopped at the cemetery and wandered over to my parent’s graves as well as Randy’s. It was raining so I didn’t stay long - just long enough to scrape some mildew off the grave marker - shed some tears - and carried on. It’s a beautiful spot really - overlooking the big Rideau Lake.

I drove through the town - by my parent’s home where we lived 5 years before - by the village bakery - by the Village Green - by the ice-cream store - by the gym - by the Cove Inn - by all these memories - and - once again - the memories rolled down my cheeks. But as well as shedding a few tears - my heart was also filled with such joy at the years we spent living in and visiting this dear village.

I drove up Foley Mountain (I ran up that mountain the day before we moved from Westport to Alliston) and headed to Perth (where the last fatal duel took place on June 13,1883 between Robert Lyon and John Wilson. They faced off in a romantic dispute over the affections of a teacher named Elizabeth Hughes. Lyon lost. Two years later Elizabeth married Wilson - who later became a member of Parliament). Who knew!!!!

I continued my drive to Ottawa - by the many lakes and rivers in that part of Ontario. My heart was full.

Growing up in eastern Ontario was truly the best. We camped every year at the campsites on the Long Sault parkway - picnicked at the beach - rode our bikes along the St. Lawrence River - fished - meandered along highway 2 from Cornwall to Brockville to go apple picking - swam to our hearts content in the river. My parents used to tell me that even as wee girl of two years old that the moment the car stopped in the parking lot at the beach - I was out and off and running. Someone was always assigned to watch my every movement.

After a whirlwind Saturday watching Ben and Jen and the kids run their 2 km, 5 km and 10 km races - I headed back up the 401 - towards home. As I drove west - the lakes and rocks of eastern Ontario faded behind me - as I got closer and closer to Kincardine, I enjoyed the endless fields of newly planted crops. I was listening to Spotify - and one of my favourite songs began to play…….GOODNESS OF GOD! It goes like this………………….

I love you Lord - for Your mercy never fails me. All my days, I’ve been held in Your hands. From the moment that I wake up - Until I lay my head - Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God.

All my life You have been faithful. And all my life You have been so, so good. With every breath that I am able - Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God.

I love Your voice - You have led me through the fire. In the darkest night - You are close like no other. I’ve known You as a Father - I’ve known You as a Friend - And I have lived in the goodness of God.

All my life You have been faithful. And all my life You have been so, so good. With every breath that I am able - Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God.

‘Cause Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me. With my life laid down - I’m surrendered now - I give You everything - ‘Cause Your goodness is running after - it’s running after me.

I drove in our driveway and Harv was out of the house in a moment - welcoming me home. Home! My Mom used to say - Home is where you hang your hat! So…..while a piece of my heart will always be in Eastern Ontario - the rest of my heart is right here - in Kincardine.