Through younger eyes I remember thinking that the Humber River wasn't much of a river. Hell, the place I knew as the Humber could be jumped over in places, more like an ever flowing bath tub drain to be stepped over with a long stride. Turns out what I called the Humber was actually a tributary to the river known as Albion Creek....it makes much more sense but it will always be the Humber River to me.
In the days before video games, the internet and social media a kid of 11 or 12 could be counted on finding themselves out in the wilds of the surrounding area for their entertainment, education and, on occasion, misadventure. It would have to be a torrential downfall of epic proportions to force us inside at that age. You knew to come home when the street lights came on, not that we actually did, and you could tell where everyone was by where their bikes were strewn about. Yeah, we drank out of garden hoses, hopped fences, got chased by angry neighbours for climbing into their yards to eat apples and all other manner of things that now live in memories and Facebook posts waxing nostalgic about the good ole days.
And we could be found down by the river...like Robbie Robertson sang, "somewhere down that crazy river" Strictly speaking it was outside of my permissible range but then, I wasn't much for rules...shocker eh? It was, for me and my buddies, an extension of our backyards. Crossing over John Garland, past my school St. Dorothy's and into the subdivision behind it we would make our way down to Turnvale, past one of my first loves place of residence and into the park. Yeah, Angela lived here...read about it here First Love There was a trail snaking it's way through the river valley that would lead you all the way down to Lake Ontario at Sunnyvale if you so chose to explore further afield.
Once in the park we had choices, right near the entrance was where we could find sustenance in the form of crab apples. A huge tree that just begged to be climbed for the juiciest and tartest crab apples that were sure to make your stomach rumble if you consumed too many of them. Off to the left was our usual area of exploration as you could jump across the flowing waters easily to find adventure on the other side in the form of a bike path that went up some steep cliff like outcroppings. The movie the Gum Ball Rally was a cult hit back then and we had visions of doing our own version right up until the moment when Pat thought we could easily jump the chasm ahead on our BMX bikes. Don't be daft man...we're peddling here with zero chance of success.
Off to the right the path would lead you to Etobicoke General Hospital. Behind the building and bordering Highway 27 hid a few chestnut trees over hanging a real steep drop to jagged rocks below. If you wanted the best chestnuts for nut wars this is where you went...the thinking was that the farther over the side you went the better the nut to be found. Again...how I'm still alive is a bit of a mystery to me. I can't tell you how many times I have fallen out of trees in that valley. And one could be sure that no matter what I was doing, there was a good chance, better than 80% I'd say, that I was going to get wet from that creek. I have fallen in, jumped in, been pushed in and more than a few occasions broken through ice to get some extremity wet. I do remember walking home with frozen stiff jeans from the knees down on one particularly cold day. I think my parents just resigned themselves to the fact that I was going to be the head shaking kid...as in of course he ripped his pants again, at the knees, or of course he's soaking wet in the middle of the winter. Good thing my dad was trained as a tailor, he could put patches on my knees...real fashion statement there.
To our addled minds the Humber river was our place so we could do as we pleased there. So when we were sitting around talking about girls or the Leafs with a small fire going we figured it was no big deal. I'm certain that the two firemen coming towards us that afternoon probably didn't see it quite that way. As it happens, I had stood up to relieve myself and caught a glimpse of these two fully festooned public servants trudging our way. In a moment of panic we all relieved ourselves on the fire and took off....what an awful smell I must say, but at least we did the right thing.
At that age we naturally would leave the park when dusk approached and I suppose that kept us safe, to a degree. I'm sure the darkness would bring older kids with their illegal and suspect shenanigans. Not that I would have ever participated of course but I'm sure it gave my parents some small comfort that I wasn't hanging by the river when I should be in bed.
On the cusp of beginning to see the world for what it was really like, living that naive innocence of boyhood, hockey cards and bicycles, that river represents the idyllic lazy summer life that slipped away a few years later when the first baby steps towards becoming an eventual adult began. A few years later I had my first real job, we moved, yet again, and life was just a little less innocent.
I hope that little valley is still providing a place to play and imagine for the eleven year old kids today. A shame if they didn't get to have those experiences...just avoid peeing on a fire if you can.
Ciao
D
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