Where the story comes from…
One solitary man’s encounter with God in the wilds of Northern Ontario.
Have you ever sat on a sun-kissed stone on the top of a mountain where you could gaze out at the patchwork greens of the forest below while the wind whipped your hair around your face? Maybe you’ve stood on the shores of some river, your cheeks wet with spray as you listened to the roar of water cascading over tumbled rocks, flecks of foam skimming past at your feet. Or perhaps you’ve tipped your head back to drink in the sight of a shooting star in a night sky so filled with stars that it takes your breath away.
You meet God in those moments. At least I know that I do. I grew up in Northern Ontario and the wilderness always seemed like it was only steps from our back door. The first conversation I ever had with God was when I’d climbed to the top of the forested hill behind our house, a gangly 16-year-old with a need to be alone to consider the big questions in life. There among the trees I could breathe deeply and hear my own heart beating. I could feel God all around me and it fed my soul.
That was a long, long time ago. My husband and I left Northern Ontario soon after our marriage but whenever we go back for a visit I love to get out in the wilderness and experience God’s marvelous creation up close and personal. I meet God in the stillness and find myself at peace. It’s a gift, something I miss in the hustle and bustle of life in the more southern parts of the province.
One memorable January not so long ago I got to spend several days visiting one of my brothers in a cabin he’d built for himself not far from the North Shore of Lake Huron between Blind River and the turnoff to Elliot Lake. It was a tiny home built well off the beaten path and completely off the grid.
The time I spent in that cabin in the woods provided the inspiration for the story I wrote for Christmas with Hot Apple Cider. The story itself is a work of fiction, but much of what I experienced on that winter retreat found its way into my story, and “The Greatest Gift of All” was the end result.
I suppose that’s how it is with most good stories. Bits and pieces of the places we’ve been and the people we’ve known end up woven into the narratives born out of our flights of imagination. When you read “The Greatest Gift of All,” you’ll catch a glimpse of the tiny off-the-grid home that my brother built in the woods in Northern Ontario. Like me, he nourishes his soul in the wilderness. Maybe you can relate.
Robin grew up in the mining communities of Northern Ontario. She remembers family gatherings as having two constants: music and the lively recounting of stories. In fact, she comes from a long line of storytellers and has always believed that a good story is the best way to teach. It can also be rollicking good fun. One of her greatest joys is capturing story on paper, and so, she writes. Her published work includes two books: Eyes Wide Open: When life happens you want to see it coming and Elijah’s Boy.
My brother and his family lived in Blind River, ON, for many years. Their second home was a very short walk from a beautiful Lake Huron beach, a wonderful place for walking and meditation.
I enjoyed the story itself. As an introvert, I certainly understood the woods-toughened Peter’s weariness after his trip to town. The setting rang true for me. With a few words for each feature, the tiny sensory details that kept me there, the story was alive. I loved the surprise and his response to it. (Don’t want to spoil it for any new readers.)
Your present locating of your brother’s cabin for us helped me to tune in even more.
Wow! This is the first time I’ve actually seen your comment or I would have responded sooner. Thank you, Patricia, for your encouraging words. I hoped that people would be able to relate to my character’s experience so it means a lot to hear it evoked something for you.