A trip like that would be nice in solitude, but not necessarily alone. Solitude to me means no interruptions, and a basic lack of external, cultural, transmitted content. Especially the type that comes through the radio, TV, internet and newspaper. Being alone is not the essence of the Algonquin Park idea; it is media solitude.
You see, beginning in the first week of August, every retailer or any business with something to sell begins to wrap their marketing message in some kind of "back to school" camouflage.
It's true. In our culture, everyone is attuned to the moving of the seasons. But the seasons are no longer characterized by the changing weather; no, they're characterized by what you need to buy based on what needs you and your family might have. For example, when it's winter time, everyone needs to start thinking about buying spring fashions. February brings an onslaught of Valentine's Day stuff. Family Day. Easter. Mother's Day. Father's Day. The tourism ads kick in throughout the springtime as families make their summer plans.
But there is always the biggest wave of cultural season change in mid-summer. After the Civic Holiday long weekend something in the atmosphere changes. You can feel it like a silent, lurking monster standing outside the door and about to barge in at any moment. Or, imagine an entire dance troupe waiting in the wings for their silent cue to rush on stage. Such a potential, and such predictability.
Yes, it's like that. As if on cue, all the media begin to deliver the message: "Back to school this, back to school that, blah, blah, blah, back to school."
And if there's one thing that really grinds my gears, it's that idiot dad prancing through the Staples store to the tune of "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" with his bored and disgusted kids in tow.
I think I know why the whole back to school season change bugs me so much. It's because I feel robbed of the entire month of August. You see, I don't need to be reminded about my classroom's needs that will be facing me in September. Perhaps fifteen or twenty years ago I would agonize over this and that, and consider going back into work mid-August to pin stuff up or whatever. But not these days. I'll think about school after Labour Day.
So, my plan is to remove myself from the reminders. Take the Geographical Cure, and head off to a place where there is no radio, TV, internet or newspaper. And I'll pick up my companion, my collection of summer reading, my most comfortable lawn chair, and head out into the wild. That's what will cure me.
