My brother-in-law, Jim, will be remembered by most as a respected, tailor-suited, straight talking Bay Street financial guru. But my memory of Jim is 100 miles away, in Georgian Bay.
Sunset from the verandah.
The cottage sits on a point of land, exposed to the changing and sometimes angry winds coming in off the Bay. Muskoka chairs line the verandah, a favourite place to relax with a cocktail and watch the sun as it dips down below the horizon.
Building the cottage was a labour of love that Jim and my sister orchestrated together – the design, the construction and the furnishings. He bought a double hull pontoon boat to ferry family and friends from the mainland to the cottage. Although the early years were fraught with close encounters with Georgian Bay’s prolific and devious submerged rocks, Jim (and his passengers) persevered and he eventually mastered navigating the tricky waters.
Visiting the cottage was a summer tradition and there was always an adventure in store for us when my husband Jon and I went up there.
The cottage backs onto a Provincial Park, and we would take an afternoon to hike the trails. On one of our early treks, failing miserably at following the faded blazes marking the trails, we got totally lost. In the hot humidity, with black flies, deer flies and mosquitoes ravaging our arms and necks, we enjoyed three hours of ‘punishment’ orienteering.
Jim and Jon enjoying coffee on the dock. A cottage tradition.
Along the way we discovered fresh, and large, bear scat. Concerning stuff. Further ahead, Jon, in the lead, heard a whirring sound. “What’s that?” he asked. Jim, from behind, said sagely, “Oh, that’s a cicada, Jon.” Just then we came upon a rattlesnake, coiled, sunning on the path, head raised – rattling his tail. From then on, we referred to rattlers as ‘cicadas’.
Jim and my sister Patricia, partners in love and life, relaxing on the dock.
When we weren’t fending off rattlesnakes, we enjoyed cold swims in the lake (Jim never just jumped in, someone always had to call out the count, “one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready and four… to… go!”), yoga classes on the community dock, and boat trips to Beausoleil Island. Jim was always ready to share his love of Georgian Bay.
Jim, my friend. I will miss your jokes, your history lessons, your encyclopedic knowledge of all things, your warm greeting (a kiss on each cheek, “like the French”). I will always remember those weekends at the cottage, your novel and inspired Christmas gifts, your immense generosity and your devotion to our family. You left us with a huge hole in our hearts.
May your soul rest peacefully. Au revoir.