Coffin Ridge

Although there are several similarities between the south shore of Georgian Bay and the Okanagan Valley, it would be considered quite a stretch to put Meaford on anyone’s list of wine destinations. I have always maintained, however, that with the many sun-drenched hills and valleys in the area, all we need is a couple degrees warmer average temperatures, and it could in fact be a great wine-producing region.

But believe it or not, there are two wineries within a 15 minute drive, Coffin Ridge and Georgian Hills. A few weekends ago, my wife Beth, who is a certified yoga teacher, was holding a Yoga and Art Retreat at our place. Since the entire upper floor, including outside deck was in use by the 8 budding artists, I had to amscray for the day. I took our friend Nick with me, and after a hearty breakfast at Blue Mountain Village and some aimless driving around for an hour, the sun was over the yardarm (somewhere), so therefore time to head to the winery I hadn’t been to yet, Coffin Ridge. The name alone provides intrique enough to make the visit.

It didn’t disappoint. To get there, you turn north off Highway 26 west of Meaford onto the 2^nd Concession North. The paved road turns to gravel, and as you head deeper and deeper into the countryside, with visions of the Squirrel Lady from “Rat Race” (see below) creeping into your brain, you start to understand perhaps why it got its name. But we arrived at the winery safely, without flying off a cliff. And to our very pleasant surprise, there in the middle of nowhere stood a very Niagara-like boutique winery, with 2 levels of outdoor decking overlooking the vineyards and Georgian Bay.

Coffin Ridge does play up on its name extremely well, from the dead tree in its logo to the bathroom ghoulishly decked out in black and red, with a TV screen playing an old episode of The Munsters! Inside, stations were already set up with the names of the wines we would be tasting right under the glasses, names like “Into the Light White,” “Back from the Dead Red,” and “Resurrection Rosé.” After the free tasting, Nick and I decided the wine was well worthy of ordering a couple full glasses, a cheese tray and heading outside to enjoy the scenery for awhile. And at the risk of overdoing this, the final nail in the coffin was indeed a coffin, used to hold the cutlery:

Swimming at Thanksgiving – the new normal

Canadian Thanksgiving was made for celebrating in the country. Especially when the weather cooperates as it did with a glorious 24 degree Saturday. Family members trickled in to Burlington from Ottawa, Toronto and Calgary, then we shuttled everyone north and squeezed 11 of us plus 2 large dogs into our place.

Traditional Thanksgiving sounds and smells – pecan and apple pies fresh out of the oven, crunching leaves underfoot, coyotes at night (well, that one may be traditional only on the Road) – were enhanced by our 3 musicians in the family, my nephew Alex, son Drew and daughter Laura as they strummed and sang for a couple hours on Saturday evening. Alex has his own music website, When Earth Sleeps, well worth a visit.

The weekend tradition always includes a long hike on one of the afternoons, and one afternoon with a visit to the local pub for the boys and a bit of browsing and shopping in Thornbury for the girls. The hike this year was more of a fitness test as we walked straight up the Champlain ski run at Georgian Peaks Ski Club.

Yeah, we made it, uh huh…

The view is well worth the effort (the header photo in my blog is from the top of Georgian Peaks), and the sweat we worked up convinced Drew and Laura jumping off the Thornbury pier into the frigid waters of Georgian Bay was somehow a good idea.

What temperature is the hot tub??

The pier is the busiest spot in town on warm summer days, but the jumping season has extended to Thanksgiving the past several years. Not sure about you, but when I was a kid, Thanksgiving weekend was often graced with snow flurries. Hard to fathom anyone still doubting global warming…

No need to get the boats out of Thornbury Harbour quite yet.

The “other” Big Apple

Our section of the Road sits high up on the escarpment, pretty well equidistant between the towns of Thornbury and Meaford. Driving or riding a bike down to either one provides a spectacular view of the Beaver Valley and Georgian Bay (the bike ride back up is rather a different story however). You will get to know both of these towns as we move along.

Although not a major metropolis in any way, Meaford does have its sophisticated side. In fact, the town slogan is “The Other Big Apple.” And right now Meaford is under siege by the annual Scarecrow Invasion. Scarecrows are everywhere, hanging from lampposts and guarding the entrances to buildings. Kind of a Teletubbies version of Night of the Living Dead.

But what I wanted to talk about in this post is another bastion of small town elegance. On the main drag there is a stately brick building with scores of windows and a pillared entrance. This is Meaford Hall. Originally built in 1908 as the new Town Hall (the winning construction bid: $20,240), like many public buildings in small towns, it was meant to be much more than a municipal building. It served as council chambers, offices, public library, meeting rooms, courthouse, and jail cell. The second floor was a magnificent Opera House. Meaford Hall was truly the centre of the community.

Things started to change in 1967 as one by one, tenants outgrew their space and moved to other locations. By 2002, the building was empty and neglected, with calls for it to be torn down.

In 2003, Meaford received a Superbuild grant, and a $6 million restoration project began. In 2006, the Meaford Hall Arts & Cultural Centre opened, and it quickly became a centre of the community once again, presenting concerts, plays, movie nights, and MIFF, the Meaford International Film Festival! We have attended several concerts over the past 2 years, at an average of $30 per ticket. The furthest back from the stage I have been is 8 rows; even I can hear the music from there.

This past weekend, 6 of us sat in Row 4 for a magical evening with Treasa Levasseur, a Juno-nominated blues, soul and R&B performer. A self-declared 40yr old hippie, Treasa is a fantastic storyteller; I feel like I know her well just from her songs. She even came out to the lobby during the band’s break and hung out with the rest of us who were enjoying a cold Creemore.

I am not a big city lover, so Meaford provides just about the right amount of sophistication for this simple dude. And I can always jump over to Thornbury for higher end shops and restaurants, but more on that another time.

Link

First, a bit of historical context- this blog is about life on Old Mail Road, which was in fact…an old mail road. It began as a simple path through area forests, but by the 1830s it became the main route for westward travel along the south shore of Georgian Bay. Established as a public road in 1846, the government saw its potential for transporting mail, and settlements sprung up along the route. The northernmost point of Old Mail Road ends right near us in the hamlet of Griersville, which in 1845 boasted a schoolhouse, blacksmith, weaver and an inn with a well-used tavern. An escaped slave, James L. Wilson, who had travelled the Underground Railroad from South Carolina, ran the inn.

The Road lost its importance after the railroad came to Collingwood in 1855 with the lakeshore road becoming the route of choice. Large portions of Old Mail Road grew over, and bustling Griersville returned to a quiet little hamlet. And although it would be nice to have a tavern within walking distance, wine seems to be pretty readily available elsewhere on the Road!

Sources:
Georgian Baytripper, Lynne Barnes.
Address by Susan Witton at the Memorial Service of St. James’, Fairmount.