I had a dream the other night about Ooze Lake. Yes, there really is such a place, with such a rotten name.

I have only been there once in my life, and that was when I was about 15 or 16 years old. If you read my post about 25 random things, you will know that I used to be painfully shy, but still went to summer camp every year because I knew it made my Grandpa happy. (He was one of the camp founders, and always paid for me to go.) Well, one of the opportunities offered by this summer camp was a Leadership Development retreat. It was a life altering experience for me. It was a very small group of about 20 campers - including staff, (as opposed to the usual 120+) and was about 10 days long, which included a three day canoe trip through Algonquin Park.

Ooze Lake was just one of many small lakes we had to cross on this journey to the Algonquin's stunning Barron Canyon. I remember thinking the name of this little lake was very appropriate because there were all kinds of gross blood sucker-looking things wriggling along the surface of the water. Or perhaps they weren't blood suckers at all, and only some kind of swimming black worm or baby snake... I guess I'll never know. All I do know is that I sure as hell didn't want our canoe to capsize in that mucky water!

So in my dream I was paddling across Ooze Lake. Only I didn't have a canoe... I somehow managed to float on the surface of the water with my feet straight out in front of me, using my arms as oars. Then once I remembered the bloody sucker thingies, I decided to fly instead. (Another thing I mentioned in my 25 things post... I always have the ability to fly in all my dreams - which comes in especially handy when you don't want gross blood suckers clinging to your legs.)

So I flew across the lake and around the corner, where I found this little community of tents and trailers perched on the sandy banks. There was a small take-out mybloggers spoon restaurant where all the people in this community ate, so I decided to stop in for a poutine. (Mmm... poutine. How Canadian of me.)

The owner and patrons immediately knew that I wasn't from around their parts, since it was a small isolated neighbourhood in the middle of the woods. They were as unsure of me, as I was sketchy of them. I wasn't certain if I could trust anyone, as they were all kinda backwoods hillbillies, and even though they treated me relatively well, there was still a weird "outsider" vibe.

At the end, just before I decided to fly away home, I recall double-checking to ensure that I hadn't been ripped off, as I had left my backpack and purse unattended. I was pleasantly surprised to see that no one ripped off my stuff and that my wallet was still full of Euros. Then again, what the heck would isolated hillbillies do with a bunch of Euros? Actually, what the heck was I doing with Euros camping in Algonquin Park, for that matter...

Ah, the mystery of dreams, huh?

Anyhow, if anything, the dream inspired me to check out Ooze Lake, to see if I could find anything about it online. For some reason, it's much nicer than I remember it. Perhaps because while it is marshland, this bush log doesn't mention anything about those slithery looking things that were all over the water.

Still, I have to wonder, who decided to name it "Ooze Lake"? What an unfortunate name.

https://www.mcelroy.ca/bushlog/20070606.shtml