I'm trying to make good use of my time here in Goderich for the workterm. I've gone swimming once (cold) and intend to do so again (I never claimed that I was sensible). I also went out with one of my landlords' dogs this morning along a walking trail that goes over the river across the old CPR bridge.
It's quite the nice trail, old rail beds tend to be great for lazy people like me (when I have a purse and a dog I never feel like doing anything interesting, those two take up all my energy and strength). I went as far as the tomb of "Tiger" Dunlop (Dr. William Dunlop), one of the founders of the
Canada Company. He and John Galt had a lot to do with the founding of the town of Goderich, as the port was developed for the settlers on the lands of the Canada Company.
Because of this history the tomb is something of a known attraction. Off the trail there is a little path leading up the hill.
After the level trail with fine gravel this little path with just dust and larger stones seems out-of-the way and untended. (Unless you're a lot more of a city kid than I am it's not). But once you get up to the top of the path there's a grassy clearing with a few pine trees. You can see that people obviously come up there not infrequently, because the grass is worn in a narrow band leading to a couple of benches set up by the tomb itself.
I read the plaque and took a little break, gave the dog some water and had some myself. I didn't sit though. I've never really been one to take long walks in graveyards, around the earthly remains of people I never knew. It set me to thinking - How would I feel if I knew that, after my death, my grave became what is essentially a minor tourist attraction? Are we showing respect or a lack thereof for Tiger Dunlop by trekking out to his lonely tomb and reading the plaque? He was more than incompetence and mismanagement, more than a town founder and politian. As I am now, so once was he. But just who am I?
It digs in the sand. You sit on the yellow seat, and the whole mechanism pivots around the centre post. The digging itself is a five-bar, two input. Grab the two handles, and move them forwards and back to move and pivot the scoop.
This is Sophie:
Cute li'l beggars, ain't they? Sorry about the picture quality by the way, they aren't very big on holding a good pose long enough for me to get a shot in. What they are big on, however, seems to be me. Seems that they've discovered that I'm a sucker for cute things. Unfortunately this coincides well with their enjoyment of attention. I say unfortunately because they seem to think that I'm fair game no matter what.
I read the plaque and took a little break, gave the dog some water and had some myself. I didn't sit though. I've never really been one to take long walks in graveyards, around the earthly remains of people I never knew. It set me to thinking - How would I feel if I knew that, after my death, my grave became what is essentially a minor tourist attraction? Are we showing respect or a lack thereof for Tiger Dunlop by trekking out to his lonely tomb and reading the plaque? He was more than incompetence and mismanagement, more than a town founder and politian. As I am now, so once was he. But just who am I?
