Another scurvy dog

This is to record that on August 30 in the year two thousand and nine, young Spencer Robert Webb gained entrance to Captain Sam Ashe Arnold's pirate room and did serve as junior navigator therein. He may or may not have plundered the Captain's treasure box and/or chewed on various and sundry items. Now he knows what fascinating adventures lay at the headwaters of the Great Stair Waterfall... Things shall never be the same.

Once in a Blue Moon

Last Friday, we fulfilled a nearly summer-long promise by taking Sam and Carter out to Carnivàle lune bleue at Hog’s Back Park—a tempting site we’d been driving by routinely for five weeks. It’s an evening event, so we chose a Friday and had the boys take an afternoon nap to prepare for being up late. And it turned out to be nearly midnight before they hit the hay, since the 7:30 seating of the Cirque du Maroc had sold out by the time we reached the old fashioned ticket booth and purchased the "Stringer" passes that gained us "first come, first served" access. The ticket was then collected by a charming midget, who assured us we were in for a treat.

Inspired by the colour, grit and bizarre allure of 1930’s carnivals and travelling freak shows, this fair was something out of the ordinary for these festival-going kids. They cautiously entered and then eagerly toured the Congress of Wonder, a tent filled with authentic early 1900 carnival artifacts and photos, and were suitably impressed by a turtle boy, a bearded lady, a seven-toed man, a baby Loch Ness monster, a one-legged pig, a two-headed cow and a man who could pick up heavy weights attached to his tongue or nipples (known as “Tough Tittie” to his friends) and so on. When Jeremy arrived a few hours later, the pair of them rhymed off those freaks of nature like they’d studied the write-ups for weeks. Here's hoping their normal social studies lessons will be captured so readily in their steel-trap minds!

The Great Snakes of the World act featured two purported “snake hunters” of the 1930s, who displayed a variety of potentially lethal snakes including a 20-foot Rock Python. They were full of tall tales about how they survived such things as an underwater Anaconda attack by slicing off the great snake’s head with a macheté that was ever at the ready. The boys sat cowering in the back row, electing not to touch any specimens. But it was all in the delivery: they’ve held bigger snakes in their laps at Little Ray’s Reptile parties!

They also took a ride on a 1917 Ferris Wheel and we all enjoyed a spin on the 1936 carousel. But, with 3.5 hours to fill before the main event, we ran out of (free) things to do and so sauntered up to Tim Horton’s for some hot chocolate and candy-sprinkled donuts. It was serendipitous that we returned after dusk, this time passing under the Carnivale archway all lit up and entering a park festooned with lights. The Unsettlers, a 10-piece Goth-meets-Folk band complete with writhing contortionist, took the stage and kept the boys mesmerized until it was time to head for the Big Top.

Or rather the mini big top. Cirque de Maroc offered an intimate seating arrangement of maybe 10 rows in semi-circle around a large stage. The 75-minute act combined elements of the carnival, circus, vaudeville, and burlesque shows. Two sprightly clown acrobats (who kept the boys in smiles and giggles) introduced a troupe of six entrancing female acrobats who specialized in different apparatuses—chairs, hoops, tightrope, trapeze, aerial ropes, and a circular metal contraption called a German Wheel. It was not surprising to learn that the troupe included Cirque du Soleil and Ringling Brothers-trained performers. The acts were often awe-inspiring—Carter gave every one of them a standing ovation, while Sam was heard to mutter from time to time, "She should not be doing that..." Death-defying feats would seem to be against a mother's dire warnings about cracked skulls and the like.

Afterwards, we spent a few minutes watching a film production being shot on site. Some sort of zombie-esque patient propped up next to the old carousel is whisked away by ambulance attendants. The name of the film escapes me, but apparently entering the grounds themselves was tantamount to agreeing to be an extra. So it's possible "small child in hoodie" was Sam's first movie role.

It was a crisp late summer night, and a nice walk back to the Mooney's Bay lot, where we left the car. We haven't been out this late (any of us!) all summer long. The last big event before the start of Grade One. We did it up right.

Director's vision

Last night, the three of us were cuddled in bed watching a National Geographic special on the problems (and pain) that whales, dolphins and porpoises are suffering as a result of man-made ocean noise—particularly the navy's sonic exercises. It was full of incredible footage, of course—National Geographic does it up right—from research projects the world over, telling the stories of passionate marine biologists engaged in the fight to save hosts of aquatic animals who are having a tough time making it clear to us humans that their brains are bleeding.

In one especially moving scene, a scientist and his team move frantically along a beach attempting to rescue 17 stranded __ whales, who had thrown themselves onto the sand in an effort to get their heads out of the water as a Navy destroyer on exercises moved through the bay. Two of the whales couldn't be saved. In the name of science, the team cut their heads off to send to the lab—and later tests would show intercranial bleeding near the ears. Sad.

And gruesome. The filmmakers didn't pull punches here. A close-up sequence shows the decapitation and the copious blood flowing into the bay. Sam had been chock full of questions about the program to this point: who was doing what and where and why and how and how long ago, etc. At this point, however, he dropped his "Sid the Science Kid" type queries and put on his film director's hat. "Oh, ewww! Oh, that's yucky! Man. That totally should have been an outtake."

Ya, I was thinking, "yeesh, I didn't need to see that." But director Sam zeroed right in on the editing team: in his vision, that clip should have hit the cutting room floor. Everyone's a critic maybe. But Sam's a movie maker.

General Knowledge

I have no idea how I got to be the mother of a six-year-old boy living in Nepean without knowing that there was a ginormous outdoor pool nestled away just 0.5 kilometres off the beaten track that is Meadowlands drive. It was only when a daytrip to General Burns Park & Pool came up on the summer field trip schedule at Carleton Heights for the third summer in a row did I ask any questions. So what kind of "pool" are we talking about? A wading pool? "Oh, no—it's huge" says Amanda. "They have three diving boards."

Seriously?

That day, Sam (and everyone in the JK-SK group except Carter—props to Carts!) failed the swim test that would allow them access to the diving boards. Sam was despondant later, explaining that he only paused "druring" his test because people were calling him in another direction and he got confused. Though he had a splashy fun time, the call of the elusive diving board (so close and yet so far!) prompted me to pile the boys in the car two days later and head out to this so-called "huge pool."

It was, in a word, huge. Maximum number of bathers? 394. That's almost four hundred. This ain't no wading pool (oh, but they have a wading pool, too, for infants and toddlers, separately fenced and with a Little Tykes slide set up in the middle of it). I understand why Sam might not have mentioned this pool as a four year old, given his take on scary bodies of water you can see 10 feet down into. But after spending the week in the pool during our Key West visit, he was a transformed boy at 5 when it came to swimming. I can only surmise that he didn't ask if we could go to General Burns because it didn't occur to him that mere families could show up at pools that seemed to be populated entirely by field trip kids. Like it was in another dimension that moms couldn't access.

Well, now we know. We spent 2 hours in the water together—quite a feat for this mom, but the rules demanded it ... swimmers under the age of 8 must stay within arm's reach of a grown-up regardless of swimming ability. The boys didn't seem to mind the supervision at all (see: huge pool) and they spent more than half the time lining up for their turn on the diving boards anyways. I treaded water alongside the ladder to cheer them on and to keep an eye on the shenanigans of the bigger kids. Me and 10 lifeguards.

I was proud of the two of them for their confidence in the company of kids twice their age. Sam was shorter by at least a foot than the average diving board user, but he marched up there with the rest of them and did his cute little 180 degree turns while they did spectacular backflips and sommersaults, egging each other on to ever crazier feats. Brave Carter took his first three jumps off the X-metre board (I don't know from measurements. It was high. See top photo.), but he was drawn to the hijinx of the older boys and came back to join Sam in his line. I should have seen the spectacular bellyflop coming. I'm not sure if he was planning to flip and pulled out, or what, but he did the swan dive opening without the swan dive finish. We took a little breather after that. So he could breathe.

It was a record-breaking hot and humid day, so Red Chest didn't want to sit out for long. After another 20-minute round, though, we packed it in and headed for Baskin Robbins. A waffle cone to cap the first of what are sure to become many, many trips to General Burns pool. Here's a portrait of the cousins from Trip One.

In the backyard

How fitting that the brand new back patio should be inaugurated in this way. With a few hours of Arnold sister chatter, singing and guitar performances by Savannah & Jasmyn followed by Sam & Carter (with accompanying interpretive dance by Anabel), Jeremy BBQing for the kids, and then settling in for a yummy grown-up meal of shrimp-stuffed summer squash picked fresh from the garden? Oh, plus Janey brought fudge.

A perfect summer evening and just what the patio was built for...

Pirate's Life

If not for an Interaction article submission in response to a “fads & fashions” call last winter, I might never have heard tell of an annual summer event held in Alexandria Bay, New York that was seemingly tailor-made for our swashbuckling six year olds. "Bill Johnston’s Pirate Days" is a 10-day festival of all things arrghh! Sam and Carter spent Saturday in their glory, helping the town commemmorate the exploits of a famous renegade who sunkthe British steamer, Sir Robert Peel, hid among the 1000 Islands, and was hunted by U.S. and Canadian authorities.

The first order of business was pirate boat building and some scouting of the local terrain around Scenic Park. The view is spectacular, overlooking Heart Island (with its famous Boldt Castle) and a thousand other island besides, and the town itself is carved out of the rock, which crops up along roads and sidewalks and just begs for clamouring.

We got a peak at the little riverside town while parading along behind Bill himself, as he lead the charge through the village to “gather pirates” for his later invasion. The boys looked great in their homemade get-ups of cut-off jeans, a couple of Jeremy’s hacked up business shirts, pirate head gear and a practised swagger.

After terrorizing the town, we headed to Capt’s Landing—a floating restaurant around the bay from the marina—for a hearty meal and the most entertaining view the kids have ever enjoyed. Even the flotsam and jetsam (mostly flotsam) was captivating to them. And needing to get your “sea legs” just to make your way safely to “the head” was an experience in itself. “I’ve never been to the bathroom while the room was moving,” Sam shouted from the Men’s room.

Back on terra firma, we found some beach-side shade and let the boys strip down to their cut-offs and play a while in the water. They threw a happy wave at the pirate ship as it sailed by—and then high-tailed it out of the water at the first canon shot! The roar and smoke of the ensuing battle between the pirates, the steamer and the shoreline defenders, filled the air for about half an hour. Then the mayor was captured and made to walk the plank, at which point he surrendered the key to the village to the invading mauradeers. Moored alongside Scenic View Park, the pirates share the booty with the villagers (us) by flinging strings of beads into the crowd. Everyone’s a pirate!

A really hot and thirsty pirate! We headed back into town for some ice cream and a look-see at all the decorations and wares the local merchants have on display for this, their biggest event of the year. It’s crazy how happy a pair of boys can be to pick out a $3 pirate set complete with sorta-operational compass, a kinda-works spy glass and a(nother) plastic sword. Who doesn’t love a town that had streetside kiosks featuring all things skull-and-crossbone?

The two “ching-changed” in swordfight back to the car and kept up the imaginary adventure all the way home—including the hour-long stop at the 1000 Islands Skydeck, which was actually the world’s biggest crow’s nest, and whose playground featured pirate ship monkey bars and pirate ship spinny structures (at least to their minds). In fact, as we pulled in the driveway 10 hours after getting this trip underway, Sam turned to Carter and asked “So, what do you want to play? Pirates?”

Puppet Love

As a baby, Sam didn’t care much for puppets. And when I say “didn’t care much,” I mean that he burst into tears every time some creature or muppet-type face looked at him sideways. The Discovery toys stack-em set Dennis got for his first Christmas included a small fish hand puppet we called “Burpy.” While Sam giggled nervously at the site of Burby chomping happily on Daddy’s fingers, he stiffened up for a scream whenever Burby turned his guppy face his way. At two, he nervously entered into conversation with Talky the Toucan—a colourful squeaky gift from Grandma and Grandpa Ashe—but couldn’t even meet Larry the Lobster’s wee, beady eyes and so immediately sent the grey plush crustacean to live with Carter, who housed Larry’s post-boil red twin (both gifts from Jacquie).

My, my, how times have changed! This past weekend, we took Sam out to the charming community of Almonte, part of the town of Mississippi Mills, not far from Ottawa—home of the Puppets Up! International Puppet Festival. Ten troupes from around Canada, the US, Europe and Iceland spent two days putting on shows in the theme, “Telling Stories” in tented and storefront theatres on the main thoroughfare. This was the fifth annual event and as already the largest show of its kind in North America.

We spent a lovely couple of hours checking out the shows (just two—they’re long!), the street performers and the do-it-yourself kids’ puppet theatres set up along the route. Sam loved it. And we loved Sam loving it, and really enjoyed walking the town besides. The gorgeous huge post office halfway up the hill is so old that it features a special entrance for Customs Canada and Inland Revenue, which I happen to know was abolished in 1921. Plus, the quaint craft stores, bakeries and the like remind me of my retirement life as though I’ve already lived it. Recognizable somehow.

Anyways, we arrived just in time to get back row seats to what would prove to be a show in itself worth the price of admission . “The Legend of the Banana Kid: The Good, the Bad, and the Chucky” was put on by the Frogtown Mountain Puppeteers from Bar Harbor, Maine, whose reputation preceeded them given that the crowd went wild when they were introduced. They must have come up last year. From the moment the puppet TV comes on way up there on the raised stage until the last goodbyes 45 minutes later, Sam was entranced (and I giggled like kid myself).

For posterity, I’m typing out a good chunk of a review I found as a memory aid for grown-up Sam. (This is the sort of thing I can see you writing sooner or later, Sam)

“We first encounter Chucky happily watching an old ‘Girl on the Railroad Tracks’ melodrama on TV from the comfort of his couch, when his little sister switches the channels on him at crucial moments to watch a thoroughly annoying trio of teletubby-type characters bounce and sing "happy, happy, fun, fun." The irate Chucky is sent outside as his mother threatens to sell the tv set. Chucky decides to play cowboy using a banana as a gun and promptly falls asleep, only to “wake up” on the outskirts of Sueno, which is being plagued by local bad guy, Bad Bart and his henchmen.

A mysterious rider, The Man with No Name, takes little Chucky under his wing, gives him the cutest little tail-wagging, fluffy goat to ride, and inducts him into his new identity as the dreaded Banana Kid.

During the Kid’s adventures, we encounter all sorts of colourful characters. There’s loqaucious Tootsie, the saloon keeper; her permanent customer, Cleatus; a man named Sue, who finds happiness when he changes his name (to Linda); a beef-jerky loving bear; Bad Bart and his nefarious crew; and an excitable little kid who is always delivering ominous news—like “The train is a-comin!” and “Snakeskin Sam is in town!” (all 12 characters are played by 3 puppeteers)

Of course, in the end, our hero, with the help of his trusty Goatie, manages to thwart all the bad guys with his boomerang bananas; we learn the secret identity of The Man with No Name; and Cleatus gets up from his barstool.

From start to finish, the “The Legend of the Banana Kid: The Good, the Bad, and the Chucky” is just gol’ darn fun. And the finish is one of the “funnest” parts, with the puppets all taking their bows while lip-synching to Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots are Made for Walking” as the bad guys are hauled off harmonzing “Happy Trails.””

Awesome.

We also took in a crazy retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk, which was clever enough but no match for Frogtown’s talents. Then Sam joined groups of kids in two different small theatres and put on his own shows for a while before we all enjoyed a BBQ picnic alongside the waterfalls of the Mississippi River.

(Yes, I wondered about that whole Mississippi River thing, too. So I looked it up. Unlike the other Mi-SS-i-SS-i-PP-i river, whose name means “great river”—and this lil’ tributary hardly qualifies—it’s possible that ours is a corruption of another native word, Mazinaa—ziibi, which means “painted image river” in Algonquin and may refer to the native pictographs found at Mazinaw Lake on the upper Mississippi. These are the things that interest me.)

We beat it out of Mississippi Mills a little after lunch, as we were picking up Tracey & fam at the airport, but I’ll bet we’ll be back to Almonte, which describes itself as “a small town with a big commitment to the arts, and a soft spot for puppets.” Who knows? We may even move there someday.. :)

Rite of passage

Sam picked out his first "big kid bike" this weekend—a Canadian Tire SuperCycle. That, the Sens shirt, and breakfast at Tim Horton's and there's no denying he's the quintessential Canadian Boy.

Sam-a-bel

Just a few days after Sam and I returned from Nova Scotia, Tracey, Carter and Anabel took their (longer) turn, enjoying 10 awesome days out there. With our staggered vacation schedule, the kids spent just 3 days in 21 together. We've come nowhere near that kind of separation since their births. Now Sam’s such an in-the-moment child that he made it most of the way through the full week in child care before saying anything about it. Then, two days before their return, he mentioned that he really wanted to show Carter and Anabel his alien craft, pausing just a second before adding “I miss my cousins.”

What struck me as especially sweet was that Sam factored Anabel in as an equal. Just like that, it seems, she’s stepped over a nearly imperceptible line. No longer an add-on baby cousin whose more an extension of Tracey than a real playmate, she’s become someone Sam can converse with about little three-eyed aliens named Ripper who are floating in a specimen jar filled with green water on the kitchen windowsill.

Of course, it’s been happening by degrees. As soon as she was barely capable of speech and stair climbing, Anabel was making her cheery way up to the boys’ rooms in the wake of their thundering excitement calling, “Don’t worry boys! I’m coming!” Back then, they barely registered her arrival, and any attention paid came in the form of steering her away from their pirate forts and towards something she might be happy taking downstairs with her. Alone. “ANA-BEL, NO!” we’d sometimes hear, just prior to a door being slammed and a rejected little girl bursting into tears. It’s tough being the baby sister, especially when it’s two against one.

But in the last couple of months, Anabel has become more sure on her feet and more articulate: she’s playing ball and hide-and-seek, and she can follow the pirate plot enough to act out some of Sam’s favourite books. “Let’s go to Sleepy Island!” is a common refrain right now as she angles in on the sailing adventure. It helps that she and Sam have had several solo playdates while Carter is out with his dad. The two of them get along like a house on fire, Anabel thrilled with Sam’s undivided attention and enthusiastic willingness to keep the game fun for her. So smitten with him is she that she’s been known to say that “Sammy is my best friend ebber-ebber-ebber!” We dubbed the happy pair "Sam-a-bel" on Sunday.

Add in summer playstructures and splash pads, where Anabel is just about as comfortable as the boys are, and the age gap between them is becoming less noticeable as the season wears on. These days, it's not so much "the boys and Anabel" as it is "the kids." At this pace, she'll be calling the shots next summer and Sam'n'Carter won't mind at all. Though there is some talk of a "No girls allowed" sign on the treehouse.

Hmmm. We'll see about that.

Nova Scotia Trip - in pictures

Sam and I spent Thursday to Sunday of our vacation at Grandma & Grandpa Arnold's lovely hilltop home and cottage. We were treated to a wonderful time and enjoyed some very relaxing days in this beautiful spot! Here is a collection of (random) photos to give a sense of the trip.

Enjoying time with Grandma, Grandpa, Jacquie and Brent on the deck. Sunny skies, gorgeous view, yummy food!

Playing with The Black Pearl. Upon our arrival in Halifax, Sam hurried through a wonderful lunch in an Italian restaurant and turned down the offer to stop at a toy store to pick up something new to play with in case we're rained out ... in anticipation of his annual reunion with this pirate ship.

Surprised to find a huge model of the Franconia in the Maritime Museum. That's the ship Grandpa sailed from England on in 1950. He remembers only the buttered rolls (he was 4).

Showing Jacquie (and Lucy) his new action figures: gifts from Grandma & Grandpa for helping to repair the driveway following torrential rains! Werewolf is his favourite. Lucy was partial to Frankenstein.

"Do you want to sit in the fire truck?" asks a very nice woman at the Great Village Fire Hall "Ummm ... why?" Sam asks. I think he was afraid he was signing up for the volunteer brigade. Here he is — a little boy rite of passage!

Enjoying a fun dip in the Pool with a View!

Heading out on "The Forest Walk" with Grandpa—a vacation tradition. They hiked to the "lumberjack line," hunted bears, followed dear trails, got lost in the wilderness and found their way home. Sam led the same expedition with Uncle Brent a few days later...

All that and much more. The days flew by! Thanks Mom and Dad ☺

The Swing Day

Wednesday was a swing day—falling between the road trips of the first half of our vacation and the visit to Grandma & Grandpa's in Nova Scotia of the second half. We had some laundry and packing to do, but we didn't want to lose the holiday feeling (especially since Jeremy's Dublin plans fell through and he'd be heading back to work the next day). So we planned a nice in-city outing: our first ever family bowling game, lunch at St. Hubert's, and a matinee showing of Ice Age 3.

Now we'd heard that Sam is something of a natural at bowling. He went to the Walkley lanes with the Child Care Centre a few weeks ago and—after hesitating with ball in hand uttering "I can't do this" repeatedly—he went on to bowl an 83 and edge out the rest of "the seniors" (as the six-year-olds refer to themselves). Now, I know that 83 is a long way from setting any records, but I'll admit that it's a higher score than I got on our first Swing Day bowling game. Seriously, I demolish those pins. One. at. a. time. I seem to remember Jasmyn beating me at bowling ... when she was three. So I make the perfect competitor for newbies.

Nonetheless, Sam suffered a little "where's my beginner's luck?" jitters after the first couple of frames and more than a few gutter balls, and he tried to revert to his jokesy I'm-not-really-trying approach to sports and leisure activities. I'm afraid he inherited a little of his mother's If-I-can't-master-it-in-5-minutes-I'm-not-playing attitude to same. Funny thing, DNA. But Jeremy and I struck the right note (I think) between coaching a good game out of him and making sure he was still enjoying every step up to the line. We made a ritual out of whispering our nuggets of simple advice in his ear, making it fun: "Hold the puppy!" we'd say, to mean cradle the ball evenly in his hands; or "Eyes on the prize!" for lining up his shot down the middle. And we made sure to wildly cheer each other on, each of us trying to get a strike or a spare to see the funny scoreboard movie (and not just to trounce the other). After a short pout—I think he really wanted us to see how good he could be—he came around on the whole team spirit thing and we had a blast. (For the record, I tweaked my style for the second game. A whopping 137 is the score to beat next time. Go, Mama!)

On the way out to the car, we stopped to play a Dirty Harry pinball game. Now Sam's never shown much interest in video games, beyond watching Daddy or Carter sink pirate ships or quest for something or other in the land of might & magic or whatever (ya, I don't pay much attention), but he has the makings of being a Pinball Wizard. He was entranced by the silver ball and made a few awesome shots (How do you think he does it? I don't know..). The role of luck in the whole thing appeals, I suspect. There are no "bad bounces" in X-box. Or maybe he was just born late, our little bowler /pinball player.

Chicken, yummy. Movie, funny. Then we hauled out the lilac suitcase and got to packing!

Buzz

At the mid-way point of the week's vacation, Sam gets a summer haircut courtesy of Daddy's clippers. The lil' monkey poses with a sorta-mohawk mid-way thru...

Incidentally, these will turn out to be the last shots of the backyard deck ☺

Great Granby

Third time makes it tradition: for Sam, summer means a two-day trip to Granby Zoo. We considered making the long drive out and back in one day, to squeeze in other summer fun, but Sam’s blank look of incomprehension was our answer to that question—as though the very definition of “Granby Zoo” includes a night in a Granby hotel. And he’s right. With two loops of animals (Africa, South America), an amusement park whose indoor jungle training zone alone takes a good hour of crawling and bouncing, and an expanded water park on site, there’s no doin’ the zoo in one day. And besides, mama don’t mind the night off from cooking and cleaning. So, days two and three of our family vacation were all Granby.

This year, Sam has declared that his favourite animal is the giraffe, so we breezed by the zebras and on to the large area full of elephants, ostriches, and giraffes. He pretended he was leading us on safari, using the same invented gutteral accent he uses when playing “Italian chef.” Colourful jobs seem to call for odd pronunciations. The zoo was, well, a zoo … so it was tough to spend much time at any one viewing area without feeling elbowed out, but Sam barely noticed. We toured Africa, had a dip at the lagoon and visited the jungle gym before declaring starvation. Our concierge recommended a restaurant (“what’s family-friendly but serves good food?”) and we headed out with plans for a quick dinner followed by a nice evening swim in St-Christophe's lovely pool. We forgot that the French don’t roll that way. Quick dinner? Nonsense, monsieur. We dined leisurely, returning hours later to collapse into bed.

Next morning, after a 45-minute swim (mostly cracken/shipwreck games), we headed for the zoo gates. The first five hours of day two were clocked at the waterpark. Sam suggested starting out there—after all, who else wants to be wet at 10 am? Wise boy. It was a warm and humid day, but most of the park's gazillion visitors were nonetheless intent on some zoo touring before changing into swim suits. So we had the run of the Lazy River ride for over an hour. We sailed the route together on big yellow innertubes, squealing under waterfalls, laughing over the “rapids” and spinning each other around—and then we ducked right back into the line and went again. And again and again. On the last trip, we let Sam’s innertube go (we’d been rafting together, holding hands) to take his chances on the ever more crowded journey. He loved it, even trying to "lose" us by taking a detour behind a rock wall ... but the falls pushed him back on our track!

After a picnic lunch of turkey sandwiches and cherries, Sam took a small hand-paddle boat out for a spin on a small 'pond' and then he and Jeremy played together in the popular wave pool for a few hours (Yes, I took a turn, but sunning on the nearby rocks was more my style). The photo above is my favourite zoom shot, taken when Sam felt he needed rescuing from some of the higher waves, but this video shows them wading in for the first wave.



We took a peak at Hurakan, the newest adventure, but wished we hadn’t since the roaring red-eyed rock monster that whips up the mist and waves for the enjoyment of waterpark revellers freaked him right out. Another year, perhaps! We spent the balance of the day on the South American side of the zoo, pet some goats in the Little Farm, and finished up in the amusement park. After a quick dinner in the pavillion, we trudged back to the car (and, for the record, Sam did the full two days on his own [not-so-flat] feet) and headed westward into a beautiful sunset, following it the whole way home. Sam was asleep in 12 minutes flat, and snoozed on as Daddy carried him up to bed three hours later.

We've been to Granby. Now it's a summer vacation.

Fort Who?

“Who’s Henry?” Sam asked, when we told him we’d be spending the day touring his fort. Good question. And just the sort of thing we intended to find out on day one of our family vacation. Indeed, I figured it would be a rather dry couple of hours reading stuff and such of that nature from a series of historical plaques while Sam trailed along behind us imagining himself in charge of the place. I had no idea that Fort Henry would be such fun.

It was a gorgeous day for ambling around the highest point in Kingston, overlooking the Saint Lawrence where it joins the Great Lakes system—the view including Wolf Island, a large wind farm (not there in Henry’s day) and, in the offing, the United States of America. Hence the fort. With the headwaters of our shipping lanes to the left, the opening of the new Rideau Canal to the right, and the Royal Navy dockyards to the rear, the British had their worries. Plus, there was that spot of trouble with seven American warships during the War of 1812. Now, watching kite fliers in the park, university students on the football field and dozens of boaters on the lake all enjoying the summer sun, it’s hard to imagine a life lived in political tension and military readiness in this quaint pastoral scene of green fields and sparkling waters.

Not so hard for Sam, however. He was commissioned into service right then and there and trained as a guard, taught to march diligently, execute crisp turns, shoulder a rifle and charge down the advanced battery to fire on the enemy. The coat was a little big and he couldn’t actually see over the fortifications, but he performed his duties with gusto. It was really cute, mostly cuz he’s so small and has no intention of entering real military service. The more he heard on the (as it turns out) private tour with an enthusiastic member of the Fort Henry Guard, the more he appreciated the trials and tribulations of nineteenth-century life in general and fort life in particular. In the end, I think he was happy to hear that the soldiers stationed here never saw any real action, that there were moms and kids on site. And a goat named David.

We spent a funny half a hour in the Victorian school room, the young schoolmistress chastizing us all for tardiness and sloveliness (“loose hair means loose morals!” she said of my windblown mess) and quizzing us on the map of the British Empire, royalty, spelling and pronunciation (lieutenant), and popular sayings. When Jeremy couldn’t recall the maxim of the day, he had to draw his own “dunce stocks” and stand with his nose and fingers pressed against the chalkboard until someone in the class got it right. Sam loved it!

Then we climbed the ramparts to watch the Garrison Parade—a musical performance and marching demonstration followed by an artillery firing (blank charge, quite loud). Among the last people to leave the fort, we headed downtown to a restaurant patio where we enjoyed a delish dinner together, with lots of convo about “soldier times,” as Sam calls it. In this pic, you can see his little pewter guard standing at attention next to the Rob Roy (click photo to enlarge). Then we headed back up the highway to Ottawa, already looking forward to the part two of the vacation—Granby Zoo!

Who’s Henry? Oh, yeah. Uhhh, the guide told us…but I forget. But he had a point in Kingston named after him. And on that point there was a fort. And in that fort we had some fun. And the green grass grew all around, all around. And the green grass grew all around.