My story is a small one, no great mountain vistas, no bungee jumping or water skiing, just family and home. My family is in Muskoka, and my mother, aunt and uncles were raised in Algonquin Park during the 40s and 50s. My grandfather and grandmother ran Highland Inn on Cache Lake. One of our favourite day trips, from my earliest memories of visiting Nana at her home in Windermere during the 60s and 70s, was driving into the Park and visiting the site of Highland Inn. Finding a small set of steps, the log cabin they all lived in, the fire plug and railway line. A piece of the foundation here and a geological posting there. Seeing where the Park Super lived and where they used to get into mischief on the cliffs above the railway, or go for a picnic.
We are attached to the land there in a visceral way. From the rock cut at Washago to the Park is the home of my spirit; Gravenhurst, Port Carling, Bracebridge, Windermere, Huntsville and the Park, the Park where my mother fed a faun named Marilyn when she was a little girl and I tried to imagine living in the tiny log cabin that housed four children and my grandparents. It's my heart that soars when I am there, and that is the best adventure of all.
Whenever I visit Canada, that the first place I go: Muskoka with at least one visit to the Park.