Reflections on Fonthill

Every small town, though similar to its neighbour in some ways, has its own unique quirks.

Sitting in the diner at a corner of "downtown" Fonthill waiting for my dinner this penultimate evening of my three day assessment workshop for teachers, I have opportunity to reflect on the peculiarities this particular small town offers. (I guess technically the small town in question here is Pelham, and Fonthill is… what, a village within the town? But I digress…)

Let's begin with the suddenly-ending sidewalk that brought me here, the sidewalk that begins at the main road and continues, rising up, up, up, three quarters of the way up the hill, and then suddenly coming to a stop at someone's driveway.

I don't get it: I'm supposed to walk along the sidewalk, and then just suddenly jump down into the road or what?

On the other hand, let it not be said that the people of Fonthill are unimaginative; the unique and undoubtedly hand-made plumbing-inspired structure in the washroom of last night's restaurant featured no fewer than six toilet paper rolls, five of which I was able to capture in one photo frame on my trusty iPhone:

No, creativity is alive and well here in this tiny village in the Niagara region... Undoubtedly the locals have tremendous time to cultivate their prolific arts in the many hours they have off work; it seems every place around here is constantly closed.

Arriving in town two days ago, I was eager -- after setting up for my workshop and checking into a local B and B -- to check out some of the cute little shops I had seen on my drive in. Alas, everything had already closed for the evening, bakery, gift shops, chocolaterie, cafe...

It was about twenty to four in the afternoon.

I especially like the sign on this shop:

Srsly, dude! With working hours like that, who's going to laugh at government jobs anymore?

On the plus side, the local bank (when open) has specialists to meet the needs of the local community:

(What the hell does an "agricultural specialist" do, I wonder, at a BANK??! I mean, isn't agriculture more about planting corn than planting dollars? But what do I know, I'm just a city slicker.)

And then let's talk about the road I had to drive along to get from my B&B to my workshop each morning. It's called... Wait for it… "Effingham Road".

Yes, that's right, say it again, let it roll around in your mouth, say it out loud, kids -- it has to be heard to be fully appreciated. In fact, I heard it before I saw it spelled out myself, when the son of the folks who run the B and B where I'm staying said it out loud in a series of directions he was giving me… Honest to God, I seriously thought at first that he was saying "f--ingham", and it took every effort on my part to not burst out laughing!

And then I saw it written out on a street sign as I drove along.

But still…

So there I was, muttering "fuckingham" out loud to myself for the next three days, and succumbing to periodic fits of internal giggling, which had some observable symptoms, and which I hoped none of my workshop participants would notice, for I'm sure they already thought I was weird enough! (But really, people, who names a street -- or anything for that matter -- "F-ingham"?!)

I will mention two noteworthy redeeming features of this little spot on the southern Ontario rural map, one being the Picard Peanut outlet store on Hwy 20, which offers the company's world-famous chip nuts and a host of other goodies for purchase (I bought several packs as prizes for my workshop, and a few more to take home for family).

The other great thing about Fonthill and pretty much every place around here is the fact that it's located in the Niagara region, which means it has an abundance of fresh, juicy, tasty fruit.

​In fact, as I'm typing this, I'm devouring a bowl of fresh peaches, picked this morning!

(not the peaches I ate this evening, but some equally tasty-looking ones from the inter webs)

So there you have it, folks, another great small town adventure in Ontario, yours to discover!