When I was a teenager, my mom and stepdad owned a small bistro in a little town in Ontario cottage country called Dorset.
Dorset, for those of you who aren’t aware, is in the general area of Huntsville, Bracebridge, Gravenhurst, etc.
One of the things it is most famously known for is an old general store called Robinson’s. These days, that general area (though Huntsville specifically) is also known as the hometown of the fabulously glam-rockesque Hawksley Workman, not that we’re keeping track or anything…
Now, during the summer that I was working at the bistro with my parents, I spent a great deal of time handing out advertising (menus and such) in front of Robinson’s. And back then (nigh on 13 years ago), Robinson’s was an old fashioned general store with bits and bobs and handicrafts. I’m not sure when during the last 13 years it merged with a Foodland store to provide a greater selection of groceries to the cottaging masses, but I’m sure you can sense how that in and of itself offended my sensibilities. It seems that over the years, the little things that made Robinson’s unique have been slowly falling away.
So, I’m hoping you will also be able to understand how I found myself standing in the produce aisle at this Robinson’s/Foodland blend last week, full of moral indignation.
