|Disclaimer: Although the resemblance is striking, this photo was not taken on the actual road I'm talking about, but on another Northern Ontario road of the same name, the 10th Side Road.|
Credit: Michael Gill
But when we get to the little bridge where locals know to swerve slightly and miss a bump in the pavement, we stop. The bridge is in front of Peter Fields' place. Quiet, soft-eyed, whiskery-lipped Peter Fields. Peter Fields who I have never seen wearing anything but dusty old barn clothes. Hard working, good man, Peter Fields. Peter Fields who sticks in my memory although we never even spoke.
We stop because of the cows. They have jumped the fence that divides Peter Fields' field from the ditch at the side of the road where his cows now graze contentedly. It is not that they are in danger, but that they could be, that makes my father pull over onto the gravel shoulder which crackels under the tires.
|Credit: Sarah Puleo|
Mr. Pringle, a neighbour, will come to help Peter Fields get his cows back inside the fence. But probably they will escape again some other day.