Colourful pioneers,

crazed prospectors and

old pot-bellied stoves…

I’d laugh myself

right off my chairs

when Grandma told

her Gold Camp tales…

Even as a child I saw

that golden wit and humour

flowed rich and deep

through her ancient veins.

This humour kept her strong.

You’d think she’d had no cares…

Those tales are lost now

like an old gold mine-

lost deep, deep within

memories buried

of another time

somewhere in my mind.

I didn’t write them down.

(a poem about Dorothy Thicke

and the Kirkland Lake Gold Camp)

(July 5, 2020- Shelley Wilson)