Random Small Town #2: Ayr

It was a beautiful November day, unseasonably warm, and a great time to escape the Big Smoke. In my eagerness to escape I took the 401 East instead of West, got annoyingly delayed but eventually back on track.

The sun warmed my hair and face all the way there. A rare treat for a Canadian November!

Ayr took 1.5 hours from East Toronto. When I entered the town I saw farms, a field of cattle, seed granaries and silos. The homes were gorgeous -- 50s bungalows and much older, Victorian-ish homes with ornate trim and well-loved trees and gardens.

As soon as I found I spot to park I jotted down the words "love love love it." Ayr is utterly charming! Free parking everywhere, well-kept heritage homes and an old factory (John Watson Manufacturing Factory) that once manufactured pots and stoves, then agricultural equipment, and is now home to several non-manufacturing local businesses. The homes are not all red brick; many are yellow brick, a nice change and not so common in the towns I've seen.

Near where I parked was an ice arena, where kids with hockey gear and their dads were enjoying barbecued hotdogs outside. Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" was playing.

I took a long walk around town.

Sounds: Wind in the trees and ornamental grass; the occasional car; and a train's loud whistle (that really made me smile).

Smells: Some distant manure; burning leaves; and later, something heavenly, kind of like when the Peak Freans factory in my neighbourhood makes strawberry cream cookies, but much better -- I swear someone must have been baking a strawberry pie.

On a whim and hoping to find a bit of local history info, I stopped into the library. Right away I found a local history shelf, and picked up the oldest-looking volume there. It contained the meeting minutes of the Ayr chapter of the Ontario Women's Institute, 1914! Hand-written in fountain pain, the minutes were a highlight for me. I travelled back in time, reading about papers these women read to each other (about the economy, home gardening, how to make a hotbed, hospitals here versus hospitals in England, and "the rural telephone"); how they entertained one another at these meetings ("and then Mrs. Cuthbertson favoured us with a lovely piano solo" or "we heard several selections from the victrola"); helped worthy causes such as "the Belgian Relief Effort" by sending socks, money, dried apples or jam; worked out their own financial issues ("We sold tea and cake for 10 cents, all proceeds going to the piano debt"); and closed each meeting with "God Save Our King." A "Mrs. Watson" figured prominently at these meetings and had a particular interest in a "gymnasium class." She seemed to have a bit of clout and hosted at least one large event at her home. Was she the wife/daughter/niece of the Mr. Watson of factory fame?

My long walk in Ayr, followed by a rest in the library, made me very cold, so I walked back to my car and drove the one-minute trek to New Orleans Pizza. The smell in there was intoxicating, as it should be in a pizza place. I waited for my freshly-baked small pizza while two batches of loud but very sweet kids came in, asking for things for their scavenger hunt -- a receipt, a pizza brochure and more. I scarfed down three of my four slices in the car, saved the last one for a photo (shown above) and drove home.

Ayr, Ontario, rated:
0 (bad) to 5 (great)

Quaintness: 5
Happy factor: 4.5
Creepy/depressing factor: 0
Backward factor: 1 (downtown remains old and charming; happy, normal people; and some sprawl on the outskirts)
Liveability: 2 (5 if I lived there as a freelance writer, but how do other people make a living in Ayr?)

First Entry: Acton

Hello world. This blog is about the two things I crave the most: getting out of the city, and pizza.

Whenever I fantasize about a change of scenery, what I envision is a road trip to a small Ontario town, specifically along the route where my favourite pizza chain has its locations. The other day I looked up that pizza chain and found that, sure enough, all of its locations are in quaint towns not obscenely far from where I live. So I decided to visit each of those towns. Pizza optional.

AND SO TODAY I packed up our dog, Bogart, got in the car and headed to Acton. It was sunny and warm for November. I hit no traffic on the 401 West heading out but was still underwhelmed by the long stretch of highways before the "scenic" part of my scenic drive kicked in. Then as the 401 veered toward London, I saw more green than grey and was excited to see signs saying "Entering the Green Belt" and "Escarpment Country."

I should note that as soon as I started my drive, I put in Joni Mitchell's "Blue" CD, a favourite, which I hadn't played in ages. The first words she sang? "I am on a lonely road and I am travelling, travelling, travelling, travelling, looking for something. What can it be?"

And that's exactly how I felt! Was there a purpose to this? What did I expect to find or achieve?

For what it's worth, I did achieve a getaway. I got away. I sang the entire Blue album twice. While on the 401 I heard a CBC interview with Adam Gopnik about his love of winter (I love it too!). Another interviewee very directly addressed my concerns about today's excursion. "If I blog it, will they come?" His conclusion was, "They probably won't, but blog anyway."

Once in Acton I didn't know what to do or see. I'm not interested in The Olde Hyde House and couldn't go in with Bogart anyway. I drove, momentarily got lost in a subdivision, but then found the main road, found Acton again. It's a charming town, not unlike what Aurora looked like before it sprawled into oblivion. I followed a sign that said "Fairy Lake," which led me to a parking lot at Prospect Park behind an ice arena. Bogie and I walked the loop then got back in the car, drove further into town, parked at a side street and went for another walk.

Sights: Pretty, very old red-bricked row houses covered in fall-coloured vines. Pumpkins from last week's Halloween. Cute but unpretentious shops. Happy families out for walks and wearing lots of cozy plaid. Happy dogs.

Smells: Fall leaves baking in the too-warm November sun.

Sounds: Hound dogs yowling in a backyard on Willow Street until the woman who lived there said, "Hey. Knock it off." Dried fallen leaves in the breeze, scraping against the road beside me. Bogart panting.

I didn't get pizza today. Decided to save money and spare myself the calories. So I left Acton, got stuck in traffic on the DVP, got a sore back and wondered if it was worth it.

Conclusion: Disappointed, not in Acton but in my lack of planning. Next time I'll find out ahead of time where to go for a hike. There are beautiful places to walk but, unfortunately, getting to them from Toronto always requires an hour of driving. Never worthwhile. Need a helicopter! Should I continue? Maybe I have to, since I've started a blog about it.

Acton ratings, from 1 (bad) to 5 (great)

Quaintness: 4
Happy factor: 3
Creepy/depressing factor: 2
Backward factor: 1 (I saw at least 4 non-whites in my very short stay, so it can't be that hick)
Liveability: 4 (everything is there, and I felt zero loneliness in the air)