It was a September day in 1793. A small boat was making its way up the Don River. The winding waterway snaked along the wide valley floor, dwarfed by the towering slopes above it, surrounded by meadows and thriving forests of butternut, oak and pine. Those woods were filled with deer, wolves and bears, even cougars. Every fall, the river flowed thick with salmon and vast flocks of passenger pigeons darkened the sky on their annual migration.
Wonderful storytelling.
Excellent article. I’ve begun my Substack which will at some point get to the Simcoes. See glennjlea.substack.com. Quite enjoy your posts.