FRIARDOM

A VISIT TO NIAGARA FALLS IN WINTER

The first of March came relatively quietly, unlike the proverbial lion. Nancy, my cousin, and Fernando, originally from the Azores took the road that hugged the Canadian banks of the mighty Niagara River. Fernando drove the entire length of this glorious connector between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. From the Peace Bridge to Niagara on the Lake on the shores of Lake Ontario, our journey started with a view of the Buffalo Skyline from the vantage point of the Old Fort Erie.





This was Fernando's first visit to Niagara Falls

Driving north we enjoyed the waters edge. The willows that loved the river's wetness had

a tinge of gold that would be greened by the warming sun of March's good-bye to Winter.
That's if the Old Man would only let up on the
one digit degrees. Tufts of clouds dotted a very blue sky, a welcome sight in this winter's dreary, dull days. Shortly after Chippewa we stopped where the river fell in a thundrous roar. The mist painted a fantasy of frozen whiteon guard rail and leaf-bared tree.

It was twenty degrees and our bodies bundled and our noses red, but the beauty of the day cancelled any deep discontant. It was a great day on a First Sunday that said hello to Lent. We walked where Indian tribal eyes first discovered one of the great wonders of a God-made world. Freezing fingers clicked cameras and beauty sang a song of white ice. My cousin Nancy and Fernando were gracious to pose here for many a picture where scene tol the story of mighty water; and there, wher the bakcgound spok of God's unseen hand. Mortals could do better than disclaim the authenticity of such a Creative HIddenness.

Though urged to continue our breathless gazes, we decided to lunch at the restaurant at the gorge's edge. Nancy's praises sung of "cool" sights of cold as we lunched still fixing our eyes through windows and forking unusually good food for a touristy site.



We continued along the "river road" to see an unfloraled clock, the power of generating mega-turbines of the diverted waters of NIagara, and the browned vineyards that dotted the shores of the gorge where autymn would bring the grapes that stirred the imagination. On of the conundrums of Fernando was the north flow of the waters of the Great Lake.

We travelled b ack on the American side quite satisfied with our cold journey of warmed hearts.