(Post 32) From Bread and Lakes to Life-Changing Goodbyes
The canoe ride was surprisingly relaxing—once I let the blood drain back into my white-knuckled hands from gripping the side of the boat like it was my last life raft. I sat at the bow, and naturally, Chuck took charge of the tiller like the captain of a luxury liner. He was gentle with the speed, casually pointing out landmarks, and though I appreciated the commentary, I knew it was his subtle way of keeping me calm. Every now and then, I’d glance back at him, his face glowing in the sunlight—or maybe just glowing from the sheer relief that I hadn’t yet capsized us.
Later, he confessed that every time I flinched, he braced himself for us both to go flying overboard. Honestly, I felt a little bad, but, you know… it’s me. What did he expect?
Eventually, we made it to a quiet little spot where we could pull the canoe ashore and start our hike. We climbed up a not-very-impressive waterfall (more like a babbling brook on a good day), but once at the top, we settled in with our snacks, and the view was nothing short of breathtaking. It was one of those moments that made you grateful for everything. Being with Chuck, feeling safe, loved, and like I might actually survive this adventure—it was perfect.
But then, the bread called. We had to get back because it was on its third rise, and missing the oven window would be a tragedy in Chuck’s world. So back we went. As we were motoring along, I noticed a boat in the distance, inching closer. Closer. Even closer. I couldn’t help myself. “Uh, Chuck, that boat’s getting awfully close…”
He just shook his head with a grin. “Relax, Cuz. I’ll get you back in time to knead the dough.”
And of course, he did. We got the bread in the oven, poured a glass of red, and whipped up a lovely meal together. It was still early, so we even managed to squeeze in that bike ride. Chuck, being the gentleman that he is, gave me the electric bike while he cruised along on a regular one. Sounds great, right? Wrong. Electric bikes apparently come with a manual of instructions—and guess who didn’t read it? So there were several times when Chuck flew by me while I sat, parked, trying to figure out why my “power” bike wasn’t cooperating. But eventually, we made it to a little dead end with a dam and a bridge to nowhere, just the perfect spot for some peaceful contemplation.
While I stood on the bridge, soaking in the beauty, Chuck disappeared. I figured nature called, until I spotted him a little downstream—stripped down to his birthday suit, hollering and diving into the water like some wilderness warrior. I couldn’t help but admire his ruggedness. It was quintessential Chuck, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
That evening, the sunset painted the sky in breathtaking colors, the bread was melt-in-your-mouth perfection, and the food was even better. As we reflected on our time together, there was this shared sense of gratitude for the connection that had grown between us. But the next day, I was off—back to Hamilton, for the 4.5-hour drive to return the rental car, then on to Grimsby, Ontario for another visit with friends.
I gave Chuck a warm hug, feeling the weight of time that had passed between us. Chuck, a bit older than me, shares the same memories of when our parents were alive, and we were surrounded by the warmth of Christmas gatherings and close-knit family moments. Back then, we were the young adults, full of energy, thriving in the embrace of a caring family. Now, here we stood as the elders—the generation left to carry on the stories—while all the parents, aunts, and uncles have passed on. How quickly time moves, as if in the blink of an eye.
This visit was different—it wasn’t one of our usual short check-ins, but something more important. His father was my mother’s brother, and that shared Italian bloodline seemed to connect us even more deeply. I could feel that familiar sense of family coursing through our conversations. Saying goodbye felt bittersweet, knowing I’d miss him, but hopeful that maybe one day he’d come visit me in BC.
With Chuck behind me, it was time for my next stop—to reconnect with the pieces of my former life. Heading back to where it all began felt surreal, back to the rental suite that became my safe haven after selling my house. I was going to spend a few days with Carrie, my landlord-turned-dear-friend, and Shelley, who had taken over my place in the home. Funny enough, Shelley had been an Airbnb guest at my Hamilton house long ago, and somehow, that random stay blossomed into a friendship that stuck.
Now, Carrie and Shelley were picking me up at the car rental in Hamilton, ready for some much-needed girlfriend time. There was plenty to reminisce about—how far we’d all come. If it weren’t for Carrie, who gave me a roof when I needed it most, and my friend Sandy, who gave me the confidence to make the leap and leave Ontario to my condo in BC at the peak of COVID, would I have made it out in time for the birth of my grandbaby and embarked on this adventure I’m living now?
Seeing them again was going to be a blast. Who knows what kind of mischief we’d stir up? But one thing was certain—this Ontario trip had been both heartwarming and beautiful. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to wrap it all up.
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