Bay of Quinte, Baptism, Friends, Families, Fort, and Fudge.

It was a short tour but a fine one.  I originally had no plans for Labour Day weekend.  I would have happily stayed home for most of it, writing and cleaning.  It was a wonderful honour though about two weeks ago when some fine friends in Napanee Ontario invited me to the baptism of their little baby girl on Saturday.  It was an invitation I gladly accepted.  My friend, the father of the little girl is a highly sincere and thoughtful individual.  Back in January of this year, he attended my Grandmother’s funeral, even standing outside in bitterly cold and damp weather at the graveside.  Good deeds should never go unnoticed and attending a much more joyful occasion was easily the proper way to reciprocate.  I also have a tremendous amount of respect for young parents these days who choose to raise their children in the Christian faith.  It is no small challenge in a time when religious observance as a whole is declining and under sharp criticism.  And besides, who can refuse the opportunity to make a fuss over a baby?  I don’t have children, so I really am thankful for any opportunity to enjoy the children of my friends and family.

Napanee happens to be in one of the oldest settled parts of Ontario.  Even my friends live in a house that dates back to the 1830’s.  It’s on Highway 2 (also known as ‘number two highway,’ or just ‘number two’), I refuse to call it County Road 2 even though it’s been that for nearly 20 years thanks to the Mike Harris wrecking crew).  I set up camp Saturday at the Adolphustown Park, located at the entrance to the Bay of Quinte off of Highway 33, also known as the Loyalist Parkway.  The drive from Kingston to Adolphustown on 33 is one of a kind.  The road is right next to the shore of Lake Ontario most of the way.  200 year old farmhouses and barns with orchards and vineyards abound.  Adolphustown Park is home to the place in 1784 where a large number of United Empire Loyalist settlers came ashore.  These were people who had previously lived in what is now the United States and were not too impressed with the Revolution that began in 1776 and weren’t sure the whole liberal, republican (in the non-partisan sense) was a good thing.  George III back in England meant stability to them, even if he was regarded as authoritarian by the rest of the American colonists.  I was fortunate to have a fine campsite where I set the tent up little more than 10 feet from the water.  There was always a cool breeze, which was more than welcome given this late summer heat wave we’ve been having.  Near the campsite is a monument to those who arrived in 1784 and a small cemetery where many of them are buried in unmarked graves.  This part of Ontario is so old.  The history, architecture, and even the local culture easily can make it feel like another time.  The various versions of the Union Jack are almost as commonly seen as the contemporary Canadian flag.

There was something wonderfully wholesome feeling about the main event of the day.  Congregants gathered under the high ceiling of St. Vincent de Paul Roman Catholic Church in Deseronto.  I sat my Lutheran self down in a pew and managed to follow most of the liturgy fairly well.  It’s strikingly similar to what I’m used to, although I’m sure some Lutherans and Catholics would both vehemently disagree, which would actually mean that Lutherans and Catholics were actually agreeing that they disagree with me.  I don’t normally sing hymns in church, regardless of denomination or if its headquarters is in Rome or St. Louis.  However, when it came time for the last hymn, I couldn’t resist.  I opened up the book, which they call a missal (not to be confused with missile, a weapon of destruction that would doubtlessly offend Mennonites), and what Lutherans would call a hymnal and turned to it.  I sang along in that hot, humid old church “And they’ll know we are Christians by our love…”  I thought about how it’s really the love we show to others is all that matters as a basic identifier of our faith.  That particular song is sung in churches of many varieties, I first learned it back in my Intervarsity Christian Fellowship days as a university undergraduate in a room mostly full of Pentecostals and Baptists.  The baptism ceremony was after the mass ended (Roman Catholics call it mass, almost everyone else calls it a church service, mass always sounds like such a heavy word to me, and service always reminds me of a service station for cars offering full serve gas pumps, a garage, a Pepsi machine, and if you’re really lucky, a small restaurant).  The little girl looked wonderful in her white gown, parents and godparents smiling, the priest happily eager to administer the first sacrament of the church.  In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and it was all done, the parents smiling accompanied by the godparents.  The social time after at the family home was wonderful.  Friendly, unpretentious, and fun people.  I considered leaving early to return to my camp but they said to stay longer.  I’m glad I did.  It’s always enjoyable to get to know the family and other friends of one’s friends.  It gives a better understanding of who they are.  Sharing stories and ideas with people who were previously strangers is fulfilling too.  In a world where too many live solitary existences in front of screens, good old fashioned in-person communication still carries an influence and sense of sincerity no electronic device can convey.  I arrived back at my camp at 11:00 feeling contented and optimistic that civilization isn’t in quite the rotten shape if often appears to be in.  I fell asleep feeling the breeze through the tent windows and hearing the waves on the bay.

I packed up fairly quickly Sunday morning and headed east on scenic 33 to Kingston.  I had a free pass to Fort Henry, the War of 1812 era fortress that overlooks the mouth of the St. Lawrence River there.  I had not been right inside Fort Henry since I was about 10 years old and mostly wanted to go back for nostalgic reasons.  I remember going there once and having my picture taken with the regimental mascot, David, who is a white goat.  According to what I read today, Fort Henry is now on the 10^th David, officially known as David X.  Goats don’t live forever, even if they have the relatively easy life as mascots for fake regiments at government owned tourist attractions.  Another time, my parents took my sister and I there to see a huge evening show in the fort complete with a mock battle.  I remember sitting there seeing cannons and field artillery firing in all directions with soldiers shouting at each other.  It really made the death and destruction of war seem fun, even the Governor General of the time, Jeanne Sauve, was in attendance that evening back in 1989.  I did not go to Fort Henry today looking for an education though, I’m already well aware of what happened in the War of 1812 (the British won, and Harper lied, Canada did not win because Canada didn’t exist yet, the USA lost).  The ironic fact is though that Fort Henry never saw a shot fired in anger.  Most of the fort was in ruins until it was rebuilt in the 1930’s as Great Depression government project to help the unemployed.  As I looked at the various licence plates in the parking lot, I quickly concluded that Americans do not mind coming to Fort Henry to see re-enactors dressed as British soldiers fire cannons toward the United States, just across the river.  After looking around Fort Henry, I headed north towards home along County Road 10, the Historic Perth Road.  I stopped in Westport, a picturesque village on Rideau Lake at the foot of Foley Mountain.  I stopped to buy some fudge from a shop there that produces what I believe to be the best fudge in eastern Ontario.  It’s been a weekend well spent.  

Several photos follow.  Click on each photo to see a larger version.

By the Bay of Quinte at Adolphustown Park

Loyalist cemetery, Adolphustown Park

United Empire Loyalist monument at cemetery, Adolphustown Park

Martello Tower below Fort Henry at mouth of Cataraqui River.  Royal Military College of Canada campus on other side.

Royal Military College from Fort Henry

Canada was not yet "Ad mare usque ad mare" in 1812.

An admission of an embarrassing part of Canada's history at Fort Henry.

Football (in the English sense), 1812 style.  It was over 30 degrees Celsius and the players were wearing wool pants, long sleeve shirts, and wool caps.  

One of Fort Henry's many narrow passage ways.  I remember being very young and going through here and thinking it led to a dungeon.

Britain is still in charge here.

Parade Square, upper fort

Lower fort

How do we know the room is orderly?  The door was locked and I could not see if anyone was keeping it tidy.  I do however know it was not a mess as I toured that room, which was quite orderly considering it was a mess.  Does anyone get the puns here at all?