I used to go there as a kid. My friends and I spent hours there, or sometimes I’d just go alone and sit. The locks were unused even back then – the place was run down and at the end of a dusty old road that went no where, it was rare to see people there. That was my experience of Newmarket, Ontario, Canada in the seventies. It was where I spent most of my time.
The picture was taken two and a half years ago. I went back, on my own just to see how much had changed.
They’ve turned it into a public trail now. “Beautified” it–in my estimation it was beautiful when it was solitary. There were so many people walking across the bridge on the day I was there, but few came down to my spot under the tree where I would sit and contemplate life and make up stories as a kid.
I could barely hear them over the sound of the rushing water, so I felt at peace still. I remember sitting on the big final step with my legs dangling over, wondering how cold the water was. There were rumours that people had drowned in the current – I doubt it’s very deep, but you never know. In years gone by there was water running down the other side too… the level was much higher back then.
Now the fence prevents anyone from exploring like I used to. There was no fence back then. Just the drop.
That day two years ago I remember not wanting to leave. I must have sat on that concrete slab for two hours or more. I kept saying to myself, “I don’t want to go.”
It’s a bitter-sweet feeling, revisiting a place that means so much – that so much of the past can be remembered by. The sharp scent of iron in the water, the constant, unending shush of the waterfall, the birds chirping in the trees, the heat of the summer rising humidly from the ground.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to leave that spot; I knew I had to get up and go eventually.
You know the feeling.
This post is part of SoCS – join in the fun today!! https://lindaghill.com/2015/03/06/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-715/