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THE COUNTIES
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By Paul Corman

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BAY OF QUINTE P. Corman

Lake Ontario can be violent and angry in the winter, when whitecaps sweep across from the American side and pound against the northern shores. In summer, flying across the water, the waves seem lost in the lake's gray blue depths.

Lake freighters slip through the locks at Niagara and like toy ships in a bathtub, trudge east along the lake with cargoes of wheat and iron ore-heading for the St. Lawrence River and beyond.

From a bird's-eye view, Prince Edward County juts out into the lake, like an island broken away from the shore, on a restless southern migration. You see miles of white beach where Sandbanks Provincial Park hangs on the west shore of The County.

Large umbrellas sprout on the bleached sand like multi-colored mushrooms. Children splash and play in the warm shallow water, chasing flocks of sandpipers up and down the beach.

Beyond the dunes the land spreads out into flourishing fields of corn and alfalfa, dotted here and there with thick dark wood lots of Maple. Vineyards planted in neat rows march across the hills, under the brilliant summer sun and below us are the towns of Wellington, Bloomfield, Picton and Rossmore.

At the northern edge of the county a high arched bridge, like a gray rainbow, shuttles traffic north across the Bay of Quinte into Belleville and Hastings County. Out in the Bay, boats with red and green sails scuttle about like brightly painted water spiders.

You look down at the marina at Meyers Pier; at the boats crammed in there and the suntanned sailors walking on the dock or resting on teak decks, enjoying the summer sun.

People inline skate along the Bayshore Trail that winds it's way through the wooded parkland all along the water's edge. Families cluster around picnic tables with babies and hampers of fresh sandwiches and fruit. Dog owners stop to chat while their pets sniff each other and get acquainted.

The children are excited as they point at a Great Blue Heron standing on one leg in the shallow water, hunting for minnows and crabs. Gulls, terns and cormorants wheel over their heads, shrieking and soaring on the wind. Someone raises a kite on a strong breeze, dancing it up towards the scattering of puffy little clouds.

If you've arrived in Belleville the weekend of the Waterfront & Ethnic Festival you'll see the tents and rides clustered along the shore at Zwick's Park. You'll hear music as colorful dancers twirl on the stage. You'll smell food from Tibetan or Poland or a dozen other ethnic communities, as it drifts up to you on the wind.

At night music, from the stages, set up along the water's edge, floats up over the sometimes sleepy town, rousing the citizens to wander down and listen. The beer tents and food courts are busy. So are the security people charged with mitigating youthful exuberance.

On a sunny morning you'll see the nation's flag flying proudly at the top of the Gothic Revival City Hall, built in 1873. Behind the red brick building local farmers assemble, laying out their goods for sale- fresh vegetables, home crafts, herbs and sweet honey.

On Front Street, colorful local characters congregate in a little park set up in the vacant space where fire claimed one of the buildings. Hanging baskets overflow with bright flowers and shade trees form rows of welcome green along both sides of the street.

Sunday morning the bells ring out from the massive limestone church spires up in old East Hill. Stately mansions once home of the cities wealthy elite line Bridge Street.

Taking to the air again, we follow the Riverfront Trail along the Moira River, as it meanders north through the city. Hwy. 401 cuts across the top end of town, joining Windsor and Quebec. The shopping malls spread out along Bell Boulevard with their big box structures and massive parking lots, crammed with shoppers on the weekend.

North of the 401, the city thins to small communities and rugged farmland where cattle quietly graze in softly rolling hills. We pass little towns like Sterling, Thomasburg, Tweed, Madoc and Marmora. Once joined by rail lines, the abandoned beds are now converted to trails for hikers, bikers, horses and off road vehicles.

Along the gravel county roads, stone fences pay tribute to the original Loyalist settlers who cleared the land and pushed back the swamps. Old barns with massive white pine beams stand empty and gray; scrub cedar closing in around abandoned wood frame houses.

Further north Hwy #7 joins southern Ontario to Ottawa. North of seven, the bedrock has been scraped clean by ice age glaciers. The hard-edged gray limestone forms depressions were thousands of small lakes catch spring run off and flourish with fish and wildlife. Deer, raccoons, beaver and black bears thrive in the mosquito-infested woods.

On we travel over the Canadian Shield past Beaver Creek, Crowe River, Limerick and Mephisto Lakes. Below overgrown and hidden lay the abandoned mines from the minor gold rush of the 1860s, that peaked and dissolved when the bubble burst.

We find ourselves looking down at Bancroft, the self-proclaimed mineral capital of Ontario. From there the county edges up against Algonquin Provincial Park, where with a canoe and some provisions you could get lost for a whole summer and never regret a moment.

XXX

Paul Corman 2004