Three themes for this appreciation of Arowhon Pines.

Sleeps because of wonderful tranquil nights; deep long sleeps, full of dreams.  I cannot remember sleeping so well for so many consecutive nights.  The extraordinary silence was one element; after 10 o’clock, you could hear nothing, except perhaps the wind through the conifers from time to time.  No people sounds, no animal sounds, and of course no traffic sounds.  Then there was the air; my cabin had many screened openings and the outdoor air flowed through like its own atmospheric blanket.  Of course the King bed was comfortable, but I slept so soundly I disturbed just the bare edge of it.

Soups because of the soups, of course.  These were wondrous, from conventional to exotic, most often thick and creamy.  I ordered soup at every meal.  The food offerings were uniformly of first quality.  At first, I thought the cuisine might be a bit bland, but though it was never very spicy-hot, it was often full of spices.  Fresh spices, from gardens outside the kitchen: large beds of basil, coriander and sorrel for example.  Mostly conventional offerings, but presented with sensitivity and style, often surrounded by seas of spices, such as watercress.  Many vegetables were locally grown, those fresh in season.  I’m not much of a desert person, but the few I had were delightful.

Bells is a metaphor for the pace of the resort.  A sort of school bell was rung for lunch and dinner – just 15 seconds- evoking a decades old memory of the resorts near the family cottage in the 1950s.  The days were quiet: voices sometimes heard in the distance, sounds of happy children far away.  I would walk through the resort grounds, see almost no one.  There was no music playing, no talk radio.  And the resort has almost no cell service, and no wifi.  I found it curious that my phone could receive email message headers, but it was impossible to read anything other than text.  Replies would not send.  I did have a portable radio with me, news junkie that I am, and I would furtively find a station in the static for a daily newscast.

The quiet beauty of the place cannot easily be described.  Photos capture some of the serenity, but they do not do justice.

The resort sits seven kilometres from the nearest highway down a well maintained but narrow gravel road.  This is all that there is close by.  There’s tennis, canoeing, sailing swimming, and hiking but not much else.  On hiking, there are well-marked trails emanating from the resort, all of them challenging to some degree: steep, rocky hills, dense thickets of vegetation, boggy bits, fallen trees to clamber over.  I realized that I was on my own on these trails, no cell service, 77 years old.  After my first trail experience, which I enjoyed although it was exhausting, I decided it was best to stick with conventional paths and roads.  I played a little tennis, read a lot (a very suitable time to re-read “Amusing Ourselves to Death”) and continued my writing project.  And, of course, there was time to simply zone out, appreciate the tranquility of the landscape, and the silence.  “When the green dark forest was too silent to be real”

The Arowhon name does come from Erewhon, and the name suits, although it’s far more magical than dystopian.  The resort is exceptionally well managed, the staff competent, friendly and helpful.  Guests were quiet and civil, for the  most part (yes, there were Americans).  I am reluctant to publish this, as it’s already hard enough to get a reservation.  On ne doit pas encourager les autres.