Our family came together by leaving the world behind
The white Cottage at the mouth of the Go Home River was the first summer place I ever rented on Georgian Bay. I was in my early forties, the breaking point in a man’s life, and the cottage satisfied several requirements: it was spare, beautiful, and on a lively and changeable body of water. The bay reminded me of the Atlantic shore on Cape Ann, north of Boston, where I grew up with my brothers and sisters. It was also secluded: the only way to get to the cottage was a two-and-a-half-hour drive followed by a serious forty-minute boat ride over open water. My wife and I had a young family and felt like we had found our place, a place just for us and for anyone who wanted to be with us.
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