|
 The
family holiday, Unplugged
Globe and Mail
Saturday August 3, 2002
Road rage parked at the resort gates. Cell phones turned off. Water
blasters loaded. Sheree-Lee Olson finds her computer-dependant
children actually have fun in the outdoors at a family resort in
Ontario.
HONEY HARBOUR, ONT.
The Del, as everyone there insists on calling it, is the kind of
retro place that features nightly entertainment in the Huron Room
and stuffed, mounted animals in the lounge, but has lately teamed
up with the nearby Wye Marsh Wildlife Centre to offer more ecological
fare. It's all listed in minute detail in the information package
we find in our room in the Lilacs, one of several rowhouse-style
residence nestled under the jack pines.
"these camp counsellors are so friendly,
I feel like I'm at the Gap."
Fun is job one at the Delawana. "Don't forget to have fun!"
exhorts the activities board in the lounge. "Did everyone have
FUN today?" the microphone-wielding social director booms during
dinner. And we are here to have fun. So when my six-year-old asks
if he could have a 3rd piece of cake after a meal consisting of
half a hot dog, I say, "of course you can."
The fun continues relentlessly after dinner, when there is a choice
of a family movie in the Iroquois Room, a wildlife lecture in the
Beausoliel Room or comedy night in the Huron Room. All this choice
is overwhelming, so we head back to the Lilacs and watch satellite
TV.
The following morning the kids breakfast enthusiastically on Belgian
waffles ("mom, this place has the best food!") before
teaming up with Dad for the 11 a.m. Rockin' Mini Putt Tournament.
They're thrilled to come in third out of five teams. The prize is
the same for everyone - vouchers for a banana boat ride. There are
banana boat tickets in the goody bags the kids were given at check-in.
By now we are rushing to our next appointment, the trip to Royal
Island. The site of the original Delawana fishing lodge, it now
offers a network of hiking trails through a serene, piney retreat
just a stone's throw from the resort complex.
Champlain landed here, I tell the boys - you know, the famous explorer?
They've never heard of him. They're only marginally more interested
when we find a section of shoreline that is hopping with baby frogs.
I immediately regress to my own childhood and capture one to show
the boys: "Look! It's the size of my finger-nail!"
Distraction is provided by my eight-year-old, who is wielding his
super soaker like some renegade cop ("who wants it?").
Inevitably, he falls into the water while filling it up, which means
for the rest of the walk we are treated to loud demands to "get
me off this Island!"
"We can't," my husband points out. "We have to wait
for the boat." The boat is slightly late, which turns out to
be a lucky break for the six year old, who is watching a father
fishing with his son from the end of the island dock. This is not
the time to tell him what I think of blood sports.
"Want to give it a try?" the man asks, in the time-honored
way of men passing on manly traditions. He hands my son a baited
rod, which he holds over the water for about a nanosecond before
hauling it up yelling "I got one!"
Sure enough there's a teeny-weeny fish wriggling on the hook "That's
amazing," I say. People are nice at the Delawana. Okay, the
staff is paid to be but these camp counsellors are so friendly I
feel like I'm at the Gap. And adults who might never speak to each
other in the city think nothing of offering a toy to another's screaming
offspring. Maybe this is what resorts are really about, not just
a chance for kids to experience tame nature, but also a place where
road rage gets parked at the gate and people remember what it's
like to say hello to strangers.
|
