Pulling Up Stakes

I’ve lived here for 31 years. You’d think in that amount of time I’d have gotten a sense I’d set down some roots. Until recently, I thought I had. But, sometimes, the obvious has to sneak up on you when you’re not really watching for it.

It’s not that it’s not a “nice” place to live; far from it, the surroundings are more than agreeable. And, I have met and gotten to know many worthwhile people. But, all these years downstream, I don’t have any sense of ‘belonging’ here, or that I ever did.

I ended up here largely by accident: I was looking for an articling job. A friend noticed an ad on the law school bulletin board for a position in Owen Sound. I had to look at a map to find it. The way I thought about it then, it was “just down the road” from Wasaga Beach, where I’d thought about settling down. I figured it’d be a quick trip down that road when articles were over.

But in that “life’s what happens to you while you’re making other plans” way, one thing moved into another; a marriage came and went; professional arrangements got rearranged. Almost before I knew it, my autumn was upon me.

I’ve spent a lot of time at Wasaga Beach over the years, had a cottage there and somehow never quite got it out of my mind that it was the ‘right’ place to be. So, I’m finishing up a modest house in same part of the beach I’ve spent summers, camped, worked summer jobs and found out a few things concerning matters of the heart.

I’m old enough to know you can’t go “back”, but, after all these years, driving into the beach by the historic old Beacon Restaurant something announces to me I’m where I belong. I hope that voice is right.

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