They bought a two-and-a-half acre tract, heavily wooded, nestled against the mountain and including part of Clam Island and the beach. In those days, the owner could purchase foreshore rights, and at first we were the only family to have a private beach. By the summer of 1912, they had cleared enough land for a fairly big house and, of course, for a wharf, where the Adoraine was moored.

That house was quite unique. As I remember hearing it, the building was a portable one that had been made in Winnipeg and was towed up on a barge. There were three bedrooms, a large kitchen, a living room and a big veranda running along two sides of the house. There was no basement, but there was a wide front step where we often sat enjoying the view of the whole bay. Across the water on the knolls and lower reaches of Black Mountain, in the spring we sometimes saw bears frolicking with their cubs. As more of the land was cleared, my uncles added a tennis court. It was a dirt court, and every spring, many backbreaking hours were spent pulling out the salal and bracken, raking stones and rolling it. My uncles had put up a huge teeter-totter suitable for adults and a wonderful high swing. Guesthouses were added later. Every summer, about seventy people from Grandfather's printing shop were brought out for the day for their annual picnic. About thirty guests could come and stay with us.

Under the lovely tall evergreens, the well was located. Here the butter and milk were stored in butter boxes on pulleys. It was a cool grassy area and a favorite place on a hot day. I remember so well the day I learned to tie a bow on my running shoes. It was right there by the well, after countless tries. Then I ran up the hill to our cottage yelling to my mother, "I did it, I did it!"

In the centre of that open space a giant old cedar had been left standing. Its uneven contours were open on one side to the heart of the tree and provided a big enough space for small girls to enter. This was our stage and centre for the performing arts. Many of Grandfather's beloved operas were presented there in loud voice and strange tones. Lack of an audience didn't seem to bother us a bit. Of course, we were just interpreting the music we had heard as we listened to Grandfather's records on the gramophone with the big horn. We had learned to sit quietly in his den while the music of the masters blasted forth.

Not every kind of music appealed to him. When the young people and aunts and uncles had come up to Horseshoe Bay from town on weekends in the Adoraine and wanted to sing and dance to the current version of rock and roll, he put his foot down. He wasn't listening to any of that awful jazz. So, he provided a dance floor up at the back of the property where it was out of earshot. By the time my sister and I came along, this building had become our summer cottage. It was a pretty place with wide stairway at one end, and an ornamental banister made of the curved trunk of a cedar tree. Our Dad had built a dry stone wall along the whole front of the veranda, where we often ate lunch.

Daddy had also added a bedroom at the far end of the veranda for Kathleen and me. It was screened all around so you felt as if you were out of doors. He had made us beds as well. I remember rising early in the morning and running down the hill to the beach before anyone was up. It was so beautiful and so still. It seemed as if the whole world was mine.

As I think of it now, Grandfather was quite a remarkable man. Only lately have I come to appreciate and admire him. He had made all this possible. He was not a tall man but he had a presence, which I recognize. His voice was strong and commanding. When he gave an order, you soon learned to carry it out, to the letter. We children were in awe of him, though I loved him dearly. He had a beautiful mustache and a twinkle in his eye.