Lunch at Arowhon

Or, how a fine meal motivated me to kick a bad habit

Arowhon by Elizabeth Johnson

I sucked my thumb when I was little. But unlike most kids who outgrow the habit by toddlerhood, I did not. I was still sucking my thumb at night in grade three. The dentist said I had to stop because it was causing my front teeth to stick out. My grandmother offered to pay to fix my teeth, but first I had to stop doing it.

My parents begged and pleaded with me to stop. They tried wrapping my thumb in plastic wrap and bandages. They tried coating the skin with various things—soap, ground pepper, baking soda—to make it less appetizing, but nothing worked. I remember just sucking through the nasty flavors until I got to the tasty thumb I craved, and then all was well. I couldn’t imagine a night without my thumb.

We were at an impasse.

One day, my parents took a day trip to Algonquin Park, one of Canada’s most famous provincial parks, located about an hour from our home. It is the land of iconic windswept white pine trees on rocky lakes, the landscapes epitomized in the artwork of the Group of Seven and Tom Thomson. It’s where my husband and I like to take our kids on backcountry canoe trips.

While in Algonquin Park, my parents went for dinner at a gorgeous old lodge called Arowhon Pines. They described the stunning round dining room and central multi-sided fireplace, the log building perched near the edge of the water with a wraparound deck. They told me about the fine dining experience, with elegant table settings and white linen tablecloths, and the numerous courses that were served to them by an attentive waiter. They described the meal in detail, and I, despite only being nine years old, longed for that meal, too.

“I would like to go to Arowhon Pines,” I said. “Please take me.”

My parents explained that it was fancy and expensive, only for special occasions. “You can go when you’re older,” they said.

Then they changed the subject, back to our eternal argument about how and when I would stop sucking my thumb. “This really needs to stop, Katherine. What’s it going to take?”

“A meal at Arowhon,” I declared. “Take me there, and I will stop sucking my thumb.”

My parents stared at me. They looked at each other. Then they said, “OK. If you stop sucking your thumb right now, and you’re able to go three months without failure, we will take you.”

I never sucked my thumb again.

Exactly three months later, my parents pulled me and my sister out of school for the day and took us to Algonquin Park. We went hiking, and then changed for our meal in the backseat of the car.  I wore my favourite black-and-yellow sunflower dress with a crinoline that made the skirt puff out, and I felt like a princess. As I ate my way through that delicious meal, I remember thinking that it was totally worth it.  

by Elizabeth Johnson

Fast forward several decades, and my mother is now the artist-in-residence at Arowhon Pines. One day per week throughout the summer, she drives to the lodge and paints en plein air for a full day, capturing scenes from around the dining hall, cabins, and neighbouring lake. It’s a nice little break from her usual frenetic life as the owner of a wood-fired pizzeria in Dorset, ON.

Since my mom just started this arrangement last summer, I have not yet seen her in action as the artist-in-residence, but yesterday, since I’m visiting for the week, my father offered to take my two youngest sons into Algonquin Park to deliver a painting to Arowhon Pines. It doubled as an opportunity to give me some solitary time to get work down and to see their grandma at work. He packed a picnic lunch and headed off with my boys.

Upon arrival, the owner, who was delighted to meet the artist’s grandchildren, invited them all for lunch. And so, my dad texted me a photo of my sons—in their decidedly non-fancy tie-dye T-shirts and running shoes—sitting in the fancy dining hall at a table set with white linens and crystal glassware. The youngest is nine, exactly the age I was the first and last time I went to Arowhon Pines.

They returned home hours later, giddy with excitement. “Mom, we ate lobster! And there was an appetizer buffet! And the waiter gave us two desserts because he had extras. We had cherry pie with homemade ice cream and chocolate cake!”

Lunch was followed by jumps off the diving platform into the lake.

While I was sorry to miss out on all the action, it delighted me to imagine my children sitting in that same dining room, experiencing the beauty and elegance of that old historic lodge nearly 30 years after I did. They are familiar with the tale of my infamous thumb-sucking habit, and so they were pleased finally to experience the place that had motivated me to stop, so very long ago.

I do need to go back. It has been far too long since my third-grade visit and, best of all, I don’t have to kick a bad habit in order to justify a trip.

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