We were more than 300 miles north of Niagara Falls, Canada, leaving Sudbury. I suggested that we continued driving north just to see what was there. For five and a half hours, the road took us far north then southwest. We saw no one and no sign of anyone except for several mail boxes lined along the road. It was miles and miles and miles before we saw the next line of mailboxes. Forests were all around with occasional peeks of sun-sparkled water glistening through the trees.
The first sign of people was the town of Chapleau. We were starving and spotted the only café on the block-long main street. The sign said Sportsman Hotel and Dining Room. Nothing fancy.
People on the street stopped and stared at us when we got out of the car and watched us walk inside. It was a little unnerving. Again, inside each person stopped what they were doing and looked at us. We both ignored it, smiled, and sat at a formica top table with chrome legs. The sparse interior reminded me of an old 1920s kitchen; well-worn but serviceable. It match-ed the exterior façade. No one smiled in greeting including our waitress. She was an older woman who looked like her feet hurt. The food offered was plain meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and string beans. When truly hungry basic is more than enough. It was delicious.
Everyone continued to stare at us as we were leaving. They seemed to want to ask what we were doing there! No one said a word. We thought they were Native Canadians. No one spoke. No one was friendly. There were no open smiling faces. No one was rude either. It was a weird experience I didn’t expect as a seasoned traveler.
Edgar Allan Poe & Me-arlene s bice (with more apologies)
It was many and many a year ago, in an ancient village of Wales That a man there lived whom you may know and I knew as well as thee And this man he lived with no other thought Than to read and write along with me.
I was a child and he was a child, In that ancient village town But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and this man of my dreams; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven we read and we wrote, this man and me.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of this man and the time we spent; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of my loved one so close to me; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my eternal love, a love that never died, In his sepulchre there in that town, In his tomb where he lays in that town.
This Jane Austen blog brings Jane Austen, her novels, and the Regency Period alive through food, dress, social customs, and other 19th C. historical details related to this topic.