An hour and a half west of Hamilton, towards the windswept shores of Lake Huron and the swampy flatlands of Michigan beyond, there lies a little town in a sleepy river valley. I spent the early years of my childhood living in St. Marys, and we’ve talked about visiting there ever since moving to Hamilton. Today we finally made the trip. These photos were taken on Instagram, and it was a cloudy day, so some of them have a funny tinge to them.
Standing by the car, waiting to leave:
I’m not the only one excited. “Hey James, where are we going?”
“Dad’s old school!”
An hour and a half later, the sign.
First things first, the man-child needs to get out and move some.
The old house on Ontario Street:
The old house on Church Street.
The old house on King Street.
The Kirkton Road place out in the country, and updated.
One of dad’s old schools, South Perth.
The other one, St. Marys Central, currently being renovated into luxury apartments.
We spent some time river Thames-side. The rail bridge.
Arenda and James ponder the environmental consequences of modern engineering.
We walked around town for a while, but first some lunch on the steps of town hall.
This tree at town hall was planted when I was two years and twenty-six days old. James is two years and twenty days old.
On the walk.
Every bibliophile falls in love somewhere. For me, it all began here.
One of my homes was on Church Street. The road lives splendidly up to its name, with churches whose architecture reflects the permanence of Scripture’s teachings. St. James Anglican Church:
“Door locked, dad, door locked!” There’s a message here somewhere.
Resting for a bit on the grounds.
St. Marys United Church.
You have to understand, there was a lot of running around.