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Back to Home Letters - November 17, 2011 Letters: Nov 17

Thank you North Frontenac Little Theatre, Brian West

Roadside Garbage, Mavis Higgs

Re: Sharbot Lake Boys Camp, Terry Maynard

Thank you North Frontenac Little Theatre

It is most unfortunate if you missed the latest NFLT performance. “Maple Lodge” was a very entertaining comedy production presented by NFLT this past weekend. The antics of the three siblings, who grew up together, showed how childhood taunting continues well into adulthood even when unforeseen situations are encountered. The unseen mother played an interesting role and one can only imagine how she would have reacted as the various hilarious circumstances unfolded. We loved how the cast portrayed specific personalities in a very entertaining way…even the bat, as it flew across the stage.

Sharbot Lake is blessed to have such a dedicated and creative team at NFLT. It is obvious that, year after year, they take great pleasure in entertaining our community. Looking forward to the spring production “Annie, the Musical”.

Brian & Linda West

Roadside Garbage

I drive on, walk on, and live on Holleford Road in South Frontenac. I've just returned from a walk along the road. It's when walking when it’s most obvious: the garbage. Today, as well as the usual assortment of fast food containers, cans and bottles and household garbage, there were two tires, and of all things a blender! Who is it that does this, I wonder? Whoever they are, residents or visitors, they should be ashamed of themselves. This is a beautiful part of the country and should not be marred by this garbage. I am constantly picking up garbage and bringing it home to recycle or take to the dump. I shouldn't have to do this; each and every one of us should take our garbage home, and dispose of it in the correct place.

If you are feeling guilty as you read this, please resolve never to do it again.

Mavis Higgs

Re: Boys Camp on Sharbot Lake

Thank you, Frontenac News, for finding an excellent contact for my historical research of the Boys’ Camp at Sharbot Lake, which operated for about six years in the early 1960s. Ron and Joyce Hollywood of Sharbot Lake not only knew about the camp, they also invited me into their home for a time of reminiscing. Ron was young himself when he and his father built the mess hall at Camp Sharbot, and he drew a map with its location, which was off Shibley Road about two-thirds of the way down Hawley Bay on the east side, between two small islands. I thought canoeing in the area of the old camp would bring back some great “childhood wonderment” memories, but memories also came from an unexpected source, the Hollywoods, as they recalled other memories of life in Sharbot Lake. It was like a “walk down memory lane” for me. Their hospitality and stories of life in a small town reminded me of my childhood town of Schomberg, although the small-town qualities are unfortunately long gone from my home town.

Even during my walk back to the Inn I experienced hospitality from Bart, a guy having a cigarette on his balcony across from the school. Bart was refreshingly friendly, greeting me, and talking to me. Even at the restaurant at the Inn it was heart warming to hear everyone greet each other. It is obvious that Sharbot Lake is a close-knit town.

On Friday morning I canoed to the camp and the small island we would visit. The island stands out most in my memory since we had endless adventures there, such as capture the flag, camping, and sword fights. As I drifted up alongside one of the rock cliffs, I put my hand on it and said to myself, “Hello, old friend, it’s been a long time. Thank you for not changing, even though you changed me. I hope you are proud of all the other young people I brought to the wilderness, to touch rock, smell trees, and nurture their sense of adventure.”

As I canoed around the island I was able to identify the very spot where the camp boat would drop off the boatload of eager boys and the rock-point that every young boy claimed as their own discovery. I sketched a drawing at the boat landing of two imaginary boys playing sword fights with newspaper pirate hats, one of the boys being me.

To say goodbye to the island, I made a rubbing of the rock face to take home. It’s ironic that one of the mandatory readings during my certification as an outdoor wilderness leader for at-risk teens was titled “Islands of Hope”!

Thanks again for helping me rediscover wonderful memories of my childhood.

Terry Maynard