One who retains vivid recollections of the terrible spring flood of 1870, when the Ottawa river rose to the greatest height it has ever risen and brought suffering and hardship to hundreds of families along its course, is Mr William Timbers, veteran resident of Hawkesbury.
“I have heard.” he said, “that hundreds of houses were submerged and hundreds of families; rendered homeless along the upper Ottawa that memorable spring, but it was every bit as bad down in this territory.
“As you can see. there Is quite a drop from Main street, Hawkesbury, down to the river. But the water that year was so high it actually covered Main street and people were rowing along the road in boats. You could sail a yacht from the river right up to the center of the town.”
“I distinctly remember that the ferry boat from Grenville used to draw up at Fillmans hotel, which was situated at what is now known as Percy’s Creek. Dozens of families in the lower section had to leave their horn until the floods abated.”
Many years ago James Brothers , George and Lawrence of Perth had a park here along the shores of the Mississippi where people loved to picnic. It was said swimming was not the best in this area. Years ago Ken Millar from Snow Road brought his cream to the Playfair Bridge where it was transferred to the cream truck. While waiting for the creamtruck to arrive they decided to take a dip and found the bottom full of pointy stones and they needed sneakers.
First let me say that I truly enjoy and have come to look forward to all you write about Lanark County. It came to me as I was watching the water rise in front of my house that years ago, (perhaps 40?) I came across some carvings on the rock face on the south side of the Playfairville Rapids and that if you were not aware of them perhaps they would make an interesting story.
My memory while getting older tells me they dated back to the 1800’s and the oldest was carved by a priest. Just a little more interesting history here in the highlands. Cheers, Paddy
Thanks Patrick Mulrooney! Now what can you add to this story??
Russ ThompsonThe bubble was the shallow side the flume was the deeper area by the mill. What a great childhood fry and gravy at the soup or the old hotel a swim in the bubble a jump from the bridge to the flume then head to Peterson’s for ice cream. Life sure was better back then
Deborah DoeDo you remember granny Barr chip truck and the paper cone fries. I didn’t come from Almonte but our family went there a lot. Pancake breakfast at the fire hall, highland dancers, chicken BBQ, snow hill, parades, ice cream at Peterson’s, V&S and amazing town with kind loving people
Christian DoyleMost exciting place to swim and or jump. OMG “TV shows”, what a game. Totally remember that at the Beach.
Darrin BreeLots of swimming at the bubble bath. Jump in behind the fire station and slid down to the bubble bath .then floated to the post office jump out and started over again
Andrea GallantI even remember swimming there…With Froggy.. God Rest His Sole..!!!
Christine Moses photo– Gayle Richards Stanley I took swimming lessons there in the mud sixties. We’d head to the beach at 8:30 for lessons at 9:00 and eat our lunch and play TVTag until it was safe to go in the water. (As we all knew it wasn’t safe to swim for an hour after eating). We’d arrive home in time for supper. Good times!
Sharon SavardLoved the beach I was there everyday along with almost every kid in town. Then I took my own kids for swimming lessons would bring our lunch and stay there most of the afternoon. Those were the days
Glenn ArthurThe Canteen was there boys!I can always remember the lemon lime drinks to go along with a Fudgesickel
Tracy LambLoved going to the park and the swimming lessons were just part of the summer experience remember the raft/dock in the river? It was such a big deal to be allowed/ and able to swim out to it … it became a ‘milestone’ in swimming ability and levels LOL
Some few years ago, The Canadian was privileged to publish a story by Howard M. Brown on how the various bays and islands on the chain of Mississippi lakes obtained their names. The story was published in early spring, so we will repeat it for the benefit of many summer residents along the shores
It happens to be exactly 140 years ago since some of the province’s Indians of the nineteenth century were in sole possession of Lanark County, and all of Eastern Ontario, above a line a few miles north of the Rideau Lake and River. In the rest of Ontario the white settlements were still further south. That actually is no longer ago than the time of the grandparents of the last generation ahead of our senior generation of today. Another thirty-five year before that time the whole of Ottawa except around a few military forts or fur trading posts was in the hands of the Indians.
One of the reasons for the settlement of this new section in Lanark County was to help relieve a post war depression in the British Isles. The area was opened with a partial survey and first settlement of the three neighboring townships of Bathurst, Drummond and Beckwith in 1816. Within less than ten years practically the supposedly tillable land in Lanark County and the north half of Carleton County except government reserves, had been occupied by settlers, including more than a few who had been encouraged to clear land which proved worthless for cultivation. In the first year only about sixteen settlers got established as far north as the Mississippi or into any part of Beckwith Township.
The Indians dispossessed here were Mississaugas who were a subtribe of the large nation of Ojibways. They had moved in from farther northwest after the Iroquois raids ended. They were a tribe which made an unusually wide use of wild plants for food, harvesting and storing large quantities of wild rice for the winter. They knew how to make maple sugar and to prepare dried berries and fruits for winter use. As hunters and fishermen they moved their camps about, by canoe in summer and by snowshoe and toboggan in winter. Their main efforts in this area were directed to moose in the winter, beaver small game and fish including suckers, pickerel and pike, in the spring and summer, while after the fall rice harvest they speared the larger fish spawning along the shores of some of the lakes, lake trout, whitefish and sturgeon. The Indian rights to this district were surrendered in a treaty made with the Mississaugas in 1819 at Kingston.
As the Indians were crowded out from the land on the north side of the Mississippi in the 1820’s, they gradually retreated northward and westward. Their Mississauga descendants are on reserved lands in the Kawartha Lakes area now. A few chose to stay near the new settlements in Lanark County, in areas not suitable for farming. In the 1890’s those still living at points near Carleton Place included groups at McIIquham’s Bridge and at the Floating Bridge. Big Joe Mitchell and Joe Baye were among the better known of the last local Indians. read-Joe Baye — Donna Sweeney Lowry or The Legend Of Big Joe Baye — How Much Do You Know?
John Cram left us the first settlers’ story of the Indians and the river here.
He was one of the nearest settlers to the river in this immediate vicinity. He came with the emigration in 1818 of about 300 persons from Perthshire to Beckwith Township, and his land included the site of the United Cemeteries. He left a story of finding the river by hearing the sound of a waterfall on a still day when he and a neighbor were clearing land together. They agreed on an exploring expedition. The next day, going along old Indian trails and new surveyors’ line they followed the sound until they reached the head of the falls, first viewing it from the present site of the Carleton Place Town Hall. On arriving according to his story as last told by him over 75 years ago, they saw a tall Indian woman leave the shore and plunge across in the shallow water to the north side, where there was an Indian camp. At that time and until the first dams were built, a long rapids extended above the falls here. At the place between the present Ritchie mill and the powerhouse there still was a rocky tree-covered island less than a hundred years ago, as well as a falls.
The next year the Indian campground became part of the farmland grants of Edmond Morphy and his family, newly arrived from Littleton in Tipperary. Four members of the family drew two township lots that became the centre of the town, from Lake Park Avenue to the township line. At the same time (which was September 1819), William Moore and his sons William and John obtained 300 acres extending from the present Lake Avenue to the 11th line road, including the greater part of the present town area south of Lake Avenue. The village had its start with the building of Hugh Boulton’s grist mill in 1820. Its future as a town was assured when the railway arrived some 40 years later in 1859. The bigger sawmills began in the 1860’s. Municipal incorporation as a village separate from Beckwith township, came in 1870 (village population 1,226) and new industries and a railway line to Ottawa. The railway shops and further growth followed in the 80’s and 90’s with incorporation as a town of over 4,000 in 1890. Then came the further expansion of the foundry and the textile mills, from the early 1900’s.read-Stories of the Mississippi River — Elk, Rice Beds, and Corduroy Roads
Passing over the story of the beginnings of the town and heading up the river, Manny’s Pier, the only restored pier of the lumbering days, is one of the first landmarks for our purpose. It’s name has a settlers’ story to it. The land along the north shore, from the Morphy’s to the mouth of the river, and running back to the town line road, was taken up in 1820 by six settlers. One was David Moffatt, ancestor of the Moffatt’s of Carleton Place. The next land east of the Moffatt’s was Manny Nowlan’s whose name we have in Manny’s Pier.
Manny Nowlan later owned the Morris Tavern where the long misrepresented Battle of the Ballygiblins of 1824 started. This first inn of the new village was on Mill Street, next the river and immediately east of the present Public Utilities Commission Office. At that time the north side of the river was still new farmland and forest. There was no bridge and the river crossing was by boat. The first few commercial buildings were on and around Mill Street. The first local road, which ran from the Road at Franktown and including the present Bridge Street, Carleton Place was authorized by the District Magistrate in 1823 and cleared in large part in 1824. Through the last century this road then a township road retained its original name of the Mill Road.
On the east side of Manny Nowlan’s farm the land was occupied by two settlers who did not stay there long. One was Thomas Burns. They were succeeded within about ten years as farmers on these two properties, by the second Peter Cram and John McRostie. John McRostie’s original stone home, standing at the river bank at Flora Street on the east side what was his farm was built in about the 1830’s.
At the other end of the row of six farms was Nicholas Dixon whose name we have in Dixon’s Point at the mouth of the river. Before passing Dixon’s Point we can look across to Indians Landing on the south shore. Fred Hunter recalls that when he was a small boy, Indians still came there in the spring on their way down the Mississippi with their season’s furs loaded in their long canoes.
On the return trip they camped against Indians Landing, sometimes staying there for most of the summer. Joe and Johnny Baye made their local headquarters there in the 1880’s and 90’s. They sold boats including dugouts made of ash and basswood, and many of their axe handles and colored hampers and clothes baskets were sold in the stores of the town. Joe Baye and his white wife also lived at the Floating Bridge on the Indian River in Ramsay. He died in the Almonte hospital in 1928.
Below Indians Landing the land at the end of Lake Avenue was the 100 acre farm of George Willis, who came here in 1820 and was the great grandfather of Henry Willis. His son, also named George, farmed there after him and raised a musically inclined family, including the third George who in his youth seems to have been the best known local musician of his time. With his bagpipes and his fiddle he gave the Scots and Irish their favorite airs, according to the occasion from the Flowers of Edinburgh to the Reel of Tulloch, and from Rory O’More to the Boys of Kilkenny and Donnybrook Fair. Around the time of the Fenian Raids he was a bandmaster of an early town band.
Above Indians Landing the farm running from the mouth of the river, to the eleventh line was the Fisher farm ; settled by Duncan Fisher in 1821, and the little point there was Fisher’s Point. The farm was owned by Brice McNeely in later years and still remains with that family.
Crossing back to Dixon’s Point, Mr. Dixon was an Englishman who came in 1820 with a wife and seven children. His farm where he lived for over forty years, and his stone house appear to have included part of what is now the Caldwell Lock End Ranch. He had a potash works on the part facing the river, called Dixon’s Landing, opposite Indians Landing. The trotting races held on the ice at Dixon’s Landing began as early as 1858. read-Let’s Go Racing Boys with Nellie Sharper and Alex Hunter from Carleton Place
The next stop in the Lower Lake is Nagle’s Shore now owned by the McDiarmid Estate. Richard Nagle had lived his latter years at the present Caldwell Summer home until 1891. His brother Patrick occupied the adjoining farm along the shore. Nagle’s Shore was bought by William McDiarmid in 1900, including W. P. Nagle’s lakeshore residence. This north shore, a regatta centre now and 75 years ago, came next to Lake Park for some years as the most popular place for this purpose. One of a series of several annual regattas of the early 1880’s was held off Nagle’s Shore at a time when rowing races had caught the public fancy almost to the extent of football or World Series baseball now. Ned Hanlen, famous world champion and world-travelled oarsman, brought the crowds to Carleton Place for two of these regattas, which drew competitors from such district rowing centres as Brockville, Prescott, and Ottawa. Sponsered by the local Boating Club, these annual events wound up in the evening in the lower river with open air concerts, fireworks, and torchlight parades of decorated boats. At one of them the added attraction, a balloon ascension, ended with a wind blowing the balloon into the river.
Along the northwest side from the Birch Point cottage shore to the upper corner of Kinch’s Bay the lake is in Ramsay Township. The Hogsback Shore running from near the former Thackaberry farm towards McCreary’s Creek is of course named for the raised hogs back ridge along the water’s edge. McCreary’s Creek, navigable for its first half mile takes its name from the well known McCreary family nearby where William McCreary settled in 1823. His grandson, Hiram, was the local member of the Legislature in Premier Drury’s Farmer Government after the first World War. The big bay itself with its wild rice and unusual deeper channels, is named for John Kinch, whose farm was between Mcreary’s and the upper side of the bay. After his death in 1865 his son farmed there and the farm later became Bowland’s.
How Black Point got its name does not seem to be known. It could well be that it was named Black Point from the early deaths by drowning here. The first recorded drowning in the lake was that of a pioneer settler, John Code who was drowned near here in 1849. The double drownings took place off this shore, Alex Gillies and Peter Peden in 1878, and Dick Willis and Noble Bennett in 1893. All the drownings were from boats capsized in the rice. read-The Sad Tale of Alexander Gillies and Peter Peden
Poole’s Point was called McCann’s Point for many years until the early 1900’s both names coming from the owners of the adjoining farmland.
Code’s Bay, the northwest side of the Second Lake, well filled with rice and sometimes with duck hunters, is another of the locations named for the first settlers as is Code’s Creek and Landing, John Code Sr., John Jr. and George Code, each drew farms with the Scotch Corners Settlement of about 12 farms in 1822. George Code lived to 1890 and the age of 93. Another long lived Scotch Corners resident was Wm. Henry Poole who died there at the age of 96 in 1928. He was an enthusiastic hunter and trapper in his day as well as a farmer.
Coming into the third or Middle Lake King’s Bay, extending from above the Two Oaks cottage shore to the cottages of Squaw Point was named for Colin King of the 1822 Scotch Corners settlement. The official names of the point at the Two Oaks Shore, and the island beside it commonly called Dinky Dooley, are King Point and King Island, according to the government map.
Aberdeen Island was bought and named in 1893 by Colin Sinclair, son of John Sinclair who came to Scotch Corners in 1822. It was Colin Sinclair who started his Carleton Place tailoring business in the early 1850’s. He also bought King Island. The nickname Dinky Dooley was for Bell Saunders and Charlie Morphy who had a camp there. Read- Tales from Dinky Dooley Island
The high and rocky Laurentian formation of much of the upper lake shores starts here. (According to the geolist, this was a seashore in some distant age, as shown by the numerous fossils in the limestone on the other side of the lake.)
Squaw Point, one of the best known landmarks on the course, looks like a logical Indian campsite, with a lookout and a sheltered landing and we have it on the authority of Fred Hunter that that is what it was. The depth of this part of the lake increases greatly and out of it near the middle rise the tops of the Two Crabs, the smallest islands in the lake.
Willis’ Landing is the next old northwest shore, headquarters. The nearby island, separated from the mainland by a narrow, rock-sided channel was named Sinclair’s Island for the Sinclairs of Scotch Corners whose original farm was near here. In the middle of the lake here is Green Island, which had that name before it was bought as a cottage site in 1915 by Mr. W. J. Hughes.
Editor’s note: This is an edited version of a eulogy given by writer Michael Dawber at the funeral of Hilda Geddes, a historian, columnist and storyteller in Snow Road Station, Ont, who died March 13 at the age of 93. By Michael Dawber The English novelist E.M. Forster wrote that “our final experience, like our first, is conjectural. We move between two darknesses.” It is the contribution we make to our community, to society, and to one another that lights the way between those two doorways.
Hilda Geddes spent nine decades making that contribution. Her contributions were enormous and freely given. Like her father John, whose remarkable diary describes the life of Snow Road Station, a hamlet west of Perth, for more than half a century to 1966, Hilda recorded in 1988 the day-to-day existence of this community, which is my home too, for close to 30 years, almost as long as I have been alive.
Like the Yukon’s Edith Josie, Hilda was a community storyteller renowned far beyond her home. I am sure everyone who live in the area has read her words, heard her stories and, through them, experienced this remarkable place. Hilda has been a fixture of Snow Road for so long that the two are part and parcel. In her book The Canadian Mississippi River, Hilda wrote: “I have always had an affinity with the big Mississippi River and the K&P Kingston and Pembroke Railroad, having been born beside both.
While I was growing up, I always had the feeling that the K& P Railway and the Mississippi River would go on forever, my home from 1912 being beside the Snow Road station. During the 27 years I worked for the federal government in Ottawa, I never lost my roots at Snow Road. She told me her interest in storytelling began after she retired from the public service in 1967. In the mid-1970s she was asked to compile a historical sketch for the Presbyterian Church centenary, and from there began a 25-year exploration of this community and the Ottawa Valley beyond.
She told the collective story of this vast place in a way accessible to everyone, with humour and character, in six books and countless newspaper columns. Hilda could spin a long yarn from earlier days, and obviously enjoyed the spinning. I will never forget the afternoon Hilda and her brother Ralph told me the story of lightning striking five different places in the family home, the two of them each building the tale higher with burning telephone lines and smoking mail sacks. And another of her many stories was a tale about the excursion trains to the Renfrew Fair. “This train was scheduled to leave Renfrew around 9 p.m., but usually would wait if all the passengers were not on tap. On one occasion, however, it pulled out on time and some of our crowd got left behind. They had gone to a movie, thinking the train would wait.”
Instead, it pulled out on time, and when they arrived at the station, all they saw were the red rear lights going out of sight. They hired a taxi hoping to catch it at Renfrew Junction, but again it had left. They went ahead hoping to catch it at Opeongo, with the same result. They were forced to stay in Renfrew all night and come down on the morning train. They were a “sheepish looking bunch.”
She said her one regret was that she had not begun her work 50 years ago, when living memory reached back to the pioneer days. It gives you pause to realize that the Wright Brothers flew at Kitty Hawk only four years before Hilda was born. The youngest generation now could not imagine the reality of that time without the stories of our elders to remind us. Hilda wrote once, “Today, our memories of the old Snow Road as told by our parents are fading, and one wonders if the following generations will ever hear of it, or remember it if they do hear the story. This was at the root of my desire to chronicle all the data I could …” We are all fortunate that she had that desire.
More than 2,500 years ago, the Greek poet Sappho wrote, “I say that, in another time, someone will remember us.” Thanks to the commitment of Hilda Geddes, we can know we will all be remembered, and so will she.
There is a true story that one of our local fisherman in the early 1900s had a narrow escape from serious injury, if not death while fishing in the Mississippi River in his boat. He was approximately 500 yards from shore when a snapping eelpout four feet long was attracted by the noise of the whirling propeller blades. The eelpout charged the rear of the boat with such force two of the blades snapped off.
The fisherman slashed at the fish with a wrench. The aquatic creature sprang clear out of the water and sank its teeth into the angler’s nose tearing off part of it before it fell back into the water from the fisherman’s blows.
The eelpout then bit through the bottom of the boat and tore a piece of the man’s boot and lacerated one of his toes. The fisherman became so angry, that he jumped into the water and pursued the eel until he caught it. He held it under the water until it drowned, but not until the eel had practically torn all his clothes and wounded him severely in the head and arms.
He was soon rescued by fellow fisherman Mr. Gardner and Mr. Henshaw who had heard all the noise coming from the area. They told the fisherman that snapping eelpouts are very savage-especially males. In some localities they found it necessary to strangle the young eelpouts to protect the residents that lived on the shore of the Mississippi.
Sounds like something out of the movie Lake Placid to me!!!
Eelpout fight just like walleyes. In fact, it’s hard to tell the difference—until they poke their noses up out of the hole. At that point, their squirming bodies resemble some hybrid cross between dogfish and eels. When they coil their tails snakelike around your wrist, well, you get that same creepy, eerie feeling you get around members of the legal profession. Thus the name lawyers…
Jill Heinerth In this heat wave, I have to spend a couple of hours in the water each day. Looking for old bottles keeps me busy. This one says “Eclectric Oil” and was made in Toronto according to the backside embossing.
Dr. Thomas Eclectric Oil was a pain relief remedy and general cure-all created by S. N. Thomas in the 1860’s which was sold until the early 20th century.
The name is a combination of electricity and magnetic, giving the customer ideas of advanced technology which didn’t exist. The uses of electricity and magnetic forces in medicine date from the 18th century, and many patent medicine makers in the 19th century included the words magnetic or electric in the names of their remedies and devices.
There is no lightning in a bottle and this certainly wasn’t more than camphor oil, eucalyptus oil, red thyme, and specially extracted fish oils, but with advertising laws non existent at the time, companies could get away with calling any product a miracle cure for whatever may ail you.
A Smiths Falls woman and two children were swept one-half mile down the churning, swollen Mississippi River, over the Carleton Place dam and the Bates and Innis Falls Monday afternoon before being rescued unharmed.
“It was absolutely a miracle they survived,” said Sgt. Ray Mclsaac of the Carleton Place police. Hilda Gilligan and her six-year-old son Jeffrey, both of 18 Greg St., Smiths Falls, and Donna Porteous, 9, of 15 Condie St., Smiths Falls, set out in a rented aluminum boat about 5:50 p.m. At Findlay’s Foundry, about a quarter-mile upstream from the dam, the boat’s motor failed and they tried unsuccessfully to paddle to shore against the swift-flowing current. People along the shore noticed the three boaters in trouble and immediately called the fire department, but the firemen could only look on helplessly as the boat was carried downstream.
When the boat approached the Carleton Place dam, the children, who were wearing life jackets, jumped out and were carried over the dam. Mrs. Gilligan, still in the boat, also was swept over the dam and was rescued below the dam by Constable Bill Shane of the Carleton Place police. The children travelled another quarter-mile down the river, over the 15-foot-high falls and through the rapids.
There 21 -year-old Dale Machin, of 180 William St., waded into the water and grabbed Jeffrey. Mr. Machin threw the boy onto the shore, grabbed a neighbour’s small boat and paddled out to rescue the girl. The woman and two children were rushed to the Carleton Place and District Memorial Hospital but required no treatment and were released.
“Nobody thought they would come up alive,” said Sgt. Mclsaac. “The only reason they survived was that the current was travelling so quickly they didn’t touch bottom. They were just carried along on the crest of the water. It really was miraculous.”
Photo-news clipping from the files of Doris Blackburn/ Karen Black Chenier
If you have read-Myth #343 The Electric Eeel of Carleton Place you have read what Rob Gardiner said about eels in Carleton Place: “When I was life guarding at Riverside Park, we would tell the kids that an eel lived under the raft to keep them from swimming under there where we couldn’t see them. I worked there a long time, but I never saw a real eel, even though others will swear they saw one. The power of suggestion must be very strong”.
But, after I posted this news clipping above from the files of Doris Blackburn/ Karen Black Chenier I got all sorts of comments:
Shane Wm EdwardsI seem to recall that they were doing this the year the Outward Bound Club at CPHS decided to take canoes out and canoe down the Mississippi toward Almonte. We had to carry the canoes past this point and there were still some small pools of water and in one of the deeper ones we saw a huge eel just swimming along the bottom. I had not known how big the eels in the Mississippi River could get. I think we only got as far as Appleton as some of our group seemed to enjoy capsizing their canoes as we went through some of the rapids. Then one group found golf balls in the river near the golf course and filled the bottom of their canoe with them. Unfortunately on the way back around Glen Isle the got swung around and the canoe tipped dumping out almost all of the golf balls.
There used to be some Americans, I believe from Detroit, who would come up every year to catch the eels and they would bring them to my father’s store to flash freeze them and then store them in ice for the trip home.
Llew LloydThe eels that were caught in front of the powerhouse were referred to as ” Ling ” . Once they passed through the turbines and out into the waters below the dam they became “Electric Eels”!
Okay I thought Lloyd was pulling my leg but he wasn’t. In the Mississippi River you supposedly can pull long, eel-like creature from any dark hole — a hole that is could be an entrance to the underworld. Okay, I can maybe make a story about the underworld of the Mississippi, but I will save that for another time.
“I heard about such a serpentine creature being thrown to the ice during an ice fishing event but the long-finned tail swiftly wrapped itself around the fisherman’s arm. Face contorted with fear, he stumbles back from the hole, trying to shake the menacing fish loose. Such an angling nightmare could continue with the widemouthed creature clamping down on the jugular and sucking the life from our hapless angler but — as anyone intimate with the virtues of the ling will attest to — this is no nightmare.”
Okay, I will stop now.
Those who know the secret of the delicately flavored firm, white, flesh hidden under a rough exterior know ling are great eating. However, the first thing most notice is that they’re different looking. Some don’t hesitate to call them ugly.
To tell you the truth if they were remaking The Godfather into a Canadian version, I wouldn’t want to find one in my bed, but some say they make for a unique and exquisite fish. They say all it takes is a big mouthful of ling meat and what might be perceived as ugly and undesirable, suddenly becomes a delicacy.
The ling is the single surviving freshwater species of the codfish family and in Ontario ling are native to cold, deep lakes and during winter often share the habitat of lake trout and even walleye. Few break out in song upon catching a ling, but many, if not seduced by their beauty on the ice, are sold by their performance on the table– the dinner table that is.
I think I will never go swimming in the Mississippi River or Lake again– not that I ever did. I will just rename that watery area Electric Avenue.