Returning to Sherwood Inn on Lake Joseph reminded one travel writer that the places we love often become part of the people we never stop missing.
By Jim Byers
As a full-time travel writer who’s been circling the planet for 18 years, there are certain images that are etched into my memory.
A photo of my Dad in a Muskoka chair on a perfect spring afternoon at Sherwood Inn on Lake Joseph in 2013 one of them. It was a lovely day in late May, and Dad and I had just finished a ride on Lake Muskoka on the RMS Segwun.
We were staying the night at the Sherwood Inn as I writing a story about it, so we set about exploring the grounds. Our favourite spot was down at the northernmost point of the property, near the grassy clearing used for weddings.
There were a couple of wide chairs under a sturdy pine tree, and we sat down to contemplate the perfection of a Muskoka afternoon.
As we gazed out at Lake Joe, we spotted a strange cloud formation; a vertical affair that looked very much like one of those goofy, air-blown stick figures that wave about in the wind outside an auto shop or car dealership.
Dad took a photo and said he was going to send it to a friend of his who knows about clouds and weather patterns. I’m not sure I ever heard the result of his inquiry, but the more important souvenir of our visit was a photo of my Dad looking so relaxed and care-free.
Dad was born and raised in California, as was I, but we both love the outdoors. And he was in love with the water and the lakes and the rocks of Muskoka.
Like me, he could sit for a considerable time just listening to the loons and watching the waves ripple across the water.
As he sat relaxing in his chair, I snapped a photo of him gazing out at the lake. I didn’t think much about it at the time.
I look back and remember a fine dinner, and their on-site smoker and the fire pit. I remember the white buildings with the classic green trim, the deep, green trees, and the brilliant blue lake. More than that, I remember the look of deep peace on my father’s face as he soaked it all in.
My wife and I recently spent a couple nights at the Inn. We pulled up chairs on one of the docks and watched the sunlight glisten on the water of Lake Joe and admired the sound of the wind softly whooshing through the trees.
I remembered the spot where I had taken the photo of my Dad, so, when we were almost ready for dinner, I walked over to the clearing by the wedding area and sat down in one of the chairs by the lake. The chairs were now painted white and not stained brown, but it was the very spot my Dad had been almost exactly 13 years earlier when I snapped his photo.
We lost him in May of last year, but it was easy to feel his presence and gentle wisdom as I sat out on the point admiring the view.
Here’s to you, Dad.