Touching Grass at Elora Gorge

All photos courtesy of the author

It seems to me that the sticky summer heat hit the city just as the earth aligned itself perfectly between the sun and the moon. For non-astrological nerds, I’m referring to the summer solstice, June 21st, the longest day of the year. With it came all the glorious clichés of summer: golden light until 9 p.m., bare shoulders, ice clinking in cocktails, and the kind of optimism only found in Toronto when the winter’s chill finally disappears from our bones.

But by the time July arrived, the ten-day stretch of pure city heat had taken its toll on us. We’d done it all: biking around Toronto Island, dancing until our shoes gave out at the Taste of Little Italy, spilling gossip and spritzes on patios along Ossington, fielding invitations to that one friend’s condo pool, hungover brunches that turned into early dinners, and the sort of aimless shopping that’s really just an excuse to dip in and out of AC.

The heat was melting our soft serve and the city was asking us for too much. It was Melody who saved us when she suggested we escape the noise and head north for our corporately mandated Canada-Day-day-off. “What about Elora Gorge?” she texted, a message met with hearts and much enthusiasm. Just a short car ride and parking pass away is  Elora Gorge, a hidden paradise carved into limestone. An oasis for city kids and locals alike.

So we packed up like summer schoolgirls playing at adventure. Six girls, two bags of chips, homemade sandwiches, cans of Diet Coke, a cooler filled with ice water, watermelon, strawberries, and a bar of chocolate we purposefully left to melt into a kind DIY chocolate dipped strawberries. A few sun-warmed picnic blankets, bottles of sunscreen passed around like communion, sunglasses perched on freckled noses. 

The gorge was greener than expected, open and cinematic. The kind of place that makes you believe in those vintage Ontario tourism ads; the ones where people in white tennis clothes leap off rocks and laugh into the sun. We weren’t quite that picture perfect, but we did our best: diving off rocks, floating in the velvet water, stretching out on sun-drenched stone, hovering just metres above the glittering surface.

In a moment of bliss, I lay back and watched wispy clouds sift through the too-blue sky, and thought, this is it. Not just summer, but the version of myself I like best: flushed, sundried, surrounded by friends, thinking of absolutely nothing.

We tanned in the sun, music drifting from someone’s portable speaker, passing around sticky handfuls of damp, sweet-and-salty kettle corn. I watched as pages softly crinkled in the breeze, turned by friends who only ever seem to read when the sun is out.

We did eventually pack up our summer adornments and made our way back to the once-overflowing parking lot–now drained–to a handful of dusty Subarus and Toyotas. To end our perfect summer day, we decided to go into the gorgeously quaint town of Elora for ice cream, duh. 

When we arrived at the only ice cream spot on Google Maps, we were met with what was simultaneously the most heartbreaking and cutest note of all time: Sorry, closed for the night, ran out of ice cream.

Disappointed, we turned back toward the car. I stopped a couple who had glistening heaps of ice cream in their hands (and because I just can't help but make small talk with strangers), I announced, “Seems like you two got the last ones!” The couple, slightly confused, replied, “Oh,  we got these from across the bridge,” and happily directed us to an Elora hidden gem: Scoop Handmade Ice Cream. With a line snaking down the block, an order booth serving customers one at a time, only a handful of flavours, and no tasting — it was a saving grace that turned a good day into a fantastic one.

This day will be forever the best day off. Elora Gorge reminded me that escape doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a car ride away, with friends you love, a half-melted chocolate bar, and water that reminds you of the sweetness of summer.