Whenever I ventured north from Keswick, past Craigmawr Beach, I felt the cool breeze from Cook’s Bay urge me onward. The ethereal quality of Lake Simcoe seemed to wash over me and soften the edges of my memories. Near the boundary of Georgina Island, I always found myself drawn to a solitary grave. As I recalled from my younger days, the grave had sat in a meadow facing the lake’s southern expanse for centuries, nameless and unmarked. Its headstone bore faint carvings, with only a few letters still visible — an “E” in the first name and a “W” and “T” in the last. The snow and rain had worn away most of the inscription, leaving the rest of the name lost to time, and no colour remained to bring clarity to the weathered stone.
Moss had formed a green path leading eastward from the grave, inviting the curious to explore. About thirty years ago, another grave appeared beside it—a woman was laid to rest there, yet she remained as nameless as her eternal neighbour.