High Flight by Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee was Robert Clayton Leslie’s favourite poem. Bob Leslie was a World War II vet - an RCAF Flying Officer and my father in law.
Though we only knew each other a short time, I had enormous respect for Bob Leslie.
He loved history and there was nothing I liked better than listening to Bob hold court at the Leslie family dinner table over a homecooked meal as he reminisced about his life adventures from his legendary Rockwood Ontario hardware store, to endless war vignettes, or his young days as a schoolboy.
Every Christmas, Bob would write a witty anecdote about the Leslie family history, the typewritten epistle neatly folded and placed in every family member’s card, with an Xmas cheque and $10 worth of lottery tickets.
Bob was a man of character, a no-nonsense straight shooter with endless determination, and razor wit, a kind and gentle man who loved his wife and family very deeply.
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun split clouds – and done a hundred things…
In High Flight, a mantra to all pilots, Magee is talking about flying which Bob loved to do, but after reading this poem many times, these two lines make me think of Bob’s peaceful lifestyle at his cottage near Remy Bay Road on Georgian Bay.
Be it watering giant sunflowers, sailing the Bay through the channel in his boat “Big Blue” with beloved wife / navigator Joan Ruth, pulling in the dock ladder for the season, or making sure every utility shed tool was in its place, these cottage homes were Bob’s favourite place in the world to be.
Bob would spend idyllic summers under sun -split clouds doing a hundred things that needed to be done.
Until 1999, I had little or no idea what cottage life was like, and each year I learn a little more. Tom and I and his daughter Christine go for the last two weeks in August every summer. I have so many fond memories of this place, including the first Leslie family Christmas in 2006. So there will be many more Leslie Cottage blogs to come.
But of all these great times, I do recall one absolutely perfect August morning at Leslie Cottage.
I remember walking along the path from the Bunky (nickname for the other cottage back behind main cottage) to the bay. The cloudless sky was peacock blue, and the sun was out in all its glory, with a hint of breeze tickling the trees.
No one else seemed to be around. There was a delicious aroma wafting through the air and I simply had to find out what it was so I followed my nose to the bay.
My mother in law was seating at the family picnic table, outside the main cottage peeling cucumbers. She looked like a queen surrounded by her adoring seagull subjects. On the table there were potato pealers and knifes amidst a colourful cornucopia of white porcelain tubs, vats of diced vegetables – brimming with onions, cucumber, tomatoes and many spices.
I wouldn’t be surprised if these same veggie vats were once used to do the laundry, bath children, and I suspect grandchildren.
The picnic table had a bright aqua, yellow and pink plastic tablecloth which was covered in peelings galore from the various ingredients. There were bags of Spanish onions and the biggest cucumbers I have ever seen. These “cooks” has been there for a quite a while and the heavenly smell was emanating from the fresh garden vegetables.
Bob and lady wife Joan were making their famous homemade relish. It was something they did every year. Joan had many of Mason jar in the fridge, but now it was time to make more.
I was invited to join in, so I started cutting the enormous cukes, privileged to be part of this pickling event.
Joan was working away as the seagulls continued to squawk approval but the image that stuck in my mind was the sight of Bob and his chosen utensil for the task.
He was Joan's King, standing proudly at the head of the picnic table decked out in white sun hat ,matching tee shirt, and shorts churning the veggie contents in his 45-cent antique Grinder which he had picked up a flea market- another great anecdote. The Grinder was perched at the end of the table doing its appointed duty. It had a long elegant handle and was beautifully shaped almost like a wine goblet. The Grinder was part of this Leslie family recipe and it was doing a fine job. .
Bob eyes were dancing as he grinned at me grinding away in glee, and I snapped his picture.
I keep that picture as a screensaver and when I feel blue, I look at Robert Clayton Leslie his twinkling eyes in high flight, and I think of that magical Remy Bay Relish Day.
