Wandering Toronto’s Islands | Sleep Story
Fall asleep to this peaceful story about life on Toronto’s Islands. Blending history with soothing imagery and the gentle rhythms of island life, this bedtime journey carries you from childhood memories to quiet lanes, sandy beaches, and timeless community spirit. With each detail, may you drift deeper into calm, cradled by the quiet peace of island life. Story written by Susan Guttridge Image credit: Orchidpoet (Canva Pro) Music credit: Liborio Conti
Transcript
Hi,
Welcome.
My name is Susan,
And I'm so glad you're here with me,
Letting me read you a story as you prepare to fall asleep.
Tonight I'll take you on a journey to explore Toronto's islands,
A place where the big city's busy energy softens and slows into a more peaceful pace,
Where the water and majestic trees hold centuries of stories,
And where the rhythms of nature invite you to rest.
As we get started,
Acknowledge for a moment that you did it,
You made it through the day.
Tomorrow is a fresh start,
A new day,
And this,
Right here,
Right now,
This is your time to sleep,
Your time off,
A time for your body to rest and rejuvenate,
And for your mind to quiet.
As you get comfortable in your bed,
Adjusting your sheets or blankets just right,
Relax your head and shoulders onto your soft pillow or mattress,
Relaxing the weight of your body into the support of your mattress,
Shifting slightly as needed,
Just letting all that tension of the day come off your shoulders.
Take a slow deep breath in,
And when it feels right,
Exhale out.
The breath is such a beautiful way to mark our transition from one activity into another,
For us together here now,
We're marking the end of the busyness of the day,
And the beginning of your rest time.
If you find that your mind wanders during this story,
Or if you start to ruminate on thoughts of today or what's to come tomorrow,
Just notice with a kind acknowledgment,
Perhaps saying to yourself,
There I go again,
Give a little smile on your face,
And then refocus on the story,
On your breath,
On how comfortable you feel in your cozy bed.
And now let's get started.
Growing up in the greater Toronto area,
A trip to Centreville on Toronto's Centre Island was always a summer adventure.
It's one I would look forward to from the moment school let out.
Playing in the park,
Cooling off in the wading pool,
And wandering through the petting zoo.
And if I was lucky,
My parents would buy tickets for a couple of rides.
This summer,
Returning as an adult,
I carried those childhood memories with me.
We walked from our hotel to the ferry docks,
Joining all the other families,
Couples and children,
All of us drawn toward a day on the island.
After waiting in line,
We boarded the ferry and enjoyed the ride.
A short 10 minutes,
Gliding across the water,
The city softening into the distance behind us,
The city skyline shimmering on the surface of Lake Ontario,
The CN tower rising tall and familiar.
Overhead,
Seagulls drifted in wide graceful circles,
Sometimes following the boat,
Perhaps hopeful for a crumb from a picnic basket,
Or simply carried by the same gentle winds guided us across the lake.
Once on the island,
We wandered through the grassy interior,
Along pathways lined with flowerbeds,
Tall green trees,
And quiet,
Lush open spaces.
The wind moved softly through the trees,
Creating a rustling,
Soothing symphony above us.
Here,
Far from the constant motion of cars,
The sounds were different,
Just the quiet whirl of bicycles passing,
The rhythm of footsteps along the paved paths,
The song of birds in the air.
We began our visit with lunch at a little restaurant near the marina.
From our table,
We watched the city skyline shimmer on the water's surface.
Overhead,
Seagulls circled slowly,
Sometimes gliding down to dip into the water for their own meal,
No doubt.
And nearer to the docks,
Ducks drifted easily across the water,
Some waddling on the shore.
I smiled,
Remembering how as a child I thought the island was only Centerville.
Yet here,
Wandering from Center Island through the Toronto marina to find this restaurant,
I was already seeing how much more life and beauty it had that I had never known existed before.
After our lunch,
We wandered slowly back across the island.
Instead of walking along the paved paths,
We slipped off our shoes to walk barefoot through the cool green grass,
Letting each step ground us.
I've heard walking barefoot in nature is said to calm the nervous system,
Steady the heartbeat and bring a sense of connection through from the earth itself into the human body.
I'd have to agree,
Walking barefoot in the grass felt exceptionally peaceful.
I found myself slowing my usual quick pace,
And more fully taking in everything around me.
All around us was beauty.
Tall maple trees and oak trees stretched high overhead,
Offering shade on this hot day.
The air was touched with the fragrance of flowers from nearby gardens.
Families were gathered in clusters beneath the trees,
Their blankets spread out across the grass or on picnic tables arranged with their snacks.
Snippets of conversation and laughter floated through the air,
Light and free.
On the water beyond,
A few people drifted on paddleboards,
Their silhouettes moving slowly against the bright shimmer of the lake.
We wandered past the cheerful sounds of Centerville Amusement Park on our left,
The faint laughter of children carrying on the breeze.
Crossing a small bridge,
We paused to watch a family of geese gathering at the water's edge,
Their reflections rippling on the surface.
Further along,
We passed water fountains large and refreshing,
And flowerbeds in full bloom.
The air touched with the soft sound of splashing water and the scent of summer blossoms.
Near the pier,
We found the Island Bicycle Rental Shop.
We chose a large,
Slightly comical two-seater bike with a striped canopy overhead,
Perfect for this hot summer day,
And began to pedal slowly along the shoreline paths.
We pedaled along,
Taking in all the sights,
And happy to have a canopy over our heads.
We rode first along the road beside the curve of Manitou Beach.
When a little grassy path appeared ahead,
We pulled off the road and followed a trail that led up to the beach.
We parked the bike and stepped onto the sand.
It was pale and inviting beneath our feet.
The sand shimmered in the afternoon sun,
Grains of cream and gold that caught in the light.
As we walked,
The sand gave way under each step.
Warm from hours in the sun and comforting in its heat,
It clung loosely between our toes,
Smooth and fine like natural cushion carrying us closer to the water.
After a few refreshing footsteps in the cool lake water,
We returned to our bicycle.
Drying off our feet and putting our shoes on once more,
We rode on toward the Gibraltar Point Lighthouse.
Rising tall from its clearing,
The lighthouse is constructed of pale stone with red trim,
And a narrow tower that tapers upward.
It has stood here since 1808,
Marking it the oldest lighthouse on the Great Lakes.
For over two centuries,
Its light has guided sailors safely across Lake Ontario,
Warning them of sandy shoals that stretch out from the island.
Though no longer in operation,
This lighthouse still carries its stories of storms weathered,
Of ships guided home,
And of the keepers who once climbed its spiral staircase each night to tend the flame of oil lamps.
After taking a few photos,
We circled back on our two-seater bike,
Following the path we had taken just earlier,
Passing once more by the bicycle rental shop,
Not quite ready to return it just yet.
We peddled onward toward Ward's Island.
This is home to a small community,
Their homes,
Each one unique,
Stood tucked into gardens alive with color.
Whimsical accents on porches,
Bright paint,
Flowers and vines spilling over fences.
As we cycled,
It was easy to feel the calm of this place,
A world shaped by patience,
Care and history.
Along the way,
The path opened into two possible routes,
One led along the road,
The other a boardwalk alongside Lake Ontario.
I hadn't known about the boardwalk at the time of our ride,
Which would have been much cooler what with the breeze coming off the lake.
So instead,
We bicycled along the road,
Through a park-like setting,
Shaded by trees that gave way to clearings where the water revealed itself.
At first glance,
The water seemed like small ponds,
Still and enclosed,
But in truth,
This was Lake Ontario itself.
The islands,
Snug Harbor,
Snake Island and Algonquin Island framed the water in such a way that the lagoons looked like hidden lakes,
Secret and serene.
The reflections of trees shimmered across the surface,
The quiet sound of water lapping against the shore followed us as we rode on.
The day we chose to visit the Toronto Islands happened to be in the middle of a summer heatwave.
Since we were only visiting for a short while,
We had wanted to make the most of every moment,
So even in the sweltering heat,
We weren't ready to spend the day indoors.
So when our bike ride led us to a little restaurant,
It felt like a welcomed reprieve.
We parked our bike and settled beneath the shade of tall trees,
Sipping icy drinks,
Feeling the cool breeze drift in from the lake.
It was here,
Under the leafy canopy at the Riviera,
A charming cafe oasis,
That my curiosity deepened.
I wondered,
What stories did these islands hold?
What histories rested quietly beneath the lush grass,
Tall trees and sandy beaches?
Well,
That is where the seed of this story was planted,
And in that moment of shade and stillness,
Of shared joy in the simple pleasures of the island,
I felt inspired to look deeper.
So now,
Taking a slow deep breath in,
And exhaling when you're ready,
Allow yourself to sink a little deeper into relaxation,
Into the cozy comfort of your bed.
Wrapped in your sheet or blanket like a gentle hug,
Letting your body and mind rest,
Your breath grow steadier.
Feeling lighter,
Ready to drift through history,
Through memories,
Into the gentle rhythms of the Toronto Islands.
Long before the ferry existed,
Homes were built,
Or amusement rides.
The Toronto Islands were part of a sandy peninsula stretching out from the mainland.
For thousands of years,
Lake Ontario's currents carried sand from the distant Scarborough Bluffs,
Building a long,
Curving landform that sheltered the harbour.
The Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation knew this place well.
They came here to gather,
To fish,
And to hold ceremonies.
For them,
The islands were a sanctuary,
Where the tall trees seemed to rise straight from the water,
And the shoreline offered space to rest,
To heal,
To be restored.
Imagine walking there then,
From the mainland onto the peninsula,
Soft sand warm beneath your feet,
The gentle lapping of the lake at the shoreline,
The air quiet and still.
Then one stormy night in April 1858,
The winds rose high and the waves grew strong.
Their force carved a permanent channel at the eastern end of the peninsula.
The land was severed,
And from that storm the islands were truly born.
The channel,
Now called the Eastern Gap,
Still allows ships to pass gently in and out of the Toronto Harbour.
From that moment,
The land became what we know it as today,
The Toronto Islands.
A small chain of connected green space,
Centre Island,
Wards Island,
Algonquin Island,
Hanlon's Point,
Olympic Island,
And several smaller ones.
Each with its own character,
And all later joined together with bridges,
Maintaining it as a quiet sanctuary,
Just across the water from the bustling city.
As the city of Toronto grew,
People crossed by boat to find peace here on the island,
To picnic under the trees and swim in the cool lake,
Enjoying the fresh breeze.
Once upon a time at Hanlon's Point,
Resorts,
Dance halls,
And an amusement park sprang up,
Along with baseball games that drew lively crowds.
I read that in 1914,
Babe Ruth hit his first professional home run here,
A moment that would become a small but cherished piece of baseball history and Toronto Island history.
In the late 1920s,
Hanlon's Point Amusement Park closed,
And Centre Island became home to Centreville Amusement Park,
Which opened in 1967.
Its rides,
Including a century-old carousel,
A miniature train,
And the petting zoo at Far Enough Farm have delighted generations of children,
Including me,
Years ago.
And all through these changes,
The Gibraltar Point Lighthouse remained,
Quiet and steadfast,
The oldest lighthouse on the Great Lakes,
And a landmark that watched centuries unfold.
Legends say that its first keeper,
John Paul Rattlemueller,
Vanished one winter night,
And whispers of his ghost have lingered ever since.
A guardian spirit,
Keeping watch over the island,
His footsteps along the spiral stairs echoing softly,
Like a lullaby carried on the breeze.
Time continued to bring change to the islands,
The grand resorts faded,
The beaches grew quieter,
And new plans began to shape the land.
In 1939,
An airport was built on the western tip of the islands,
Replacing the cottages that once stood there.
At first,
It was known as the Port George VI Island Airport.
Then,
In 2009,
It was renamed the Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport,
In honour of Canadian World War I flying ace,
William Billy Bishop.
Its runways stretch along the lake,
Carrying passengers in and out of Toronto.
From its inception,
The airport stirred mixed feelings among the residents here.
Some welcomed the convenience,
While others worried about the noise and the loss of island quiet.
In the decades that followed,
Debates continued.
Compromises were made that the airport would remain small,
And that jets would not be permitted.
Even today,
Its presence reflects the balance the islands must hold between the hum of modern life and the timeless calm of wind and water.
As the airport took shape over the years,
And planes began to rise and land here,
The islands never lost their sense of this place being a place to live,
To belong.
Beyond the runways,
Life on wards and Algonquin Islands carried on.
Families tended their gardens,
Children played along quiet lanes,
And neighbours greeted one another by name.
At one point,
The city had planned to clear away the homes in order to turn everything into parkland,
But a small and determined group of residents chose to stay.
They raised their children here,
Fought for their right to remain,
And through their persistence,
The plans shifted,
And their homes,
Their community,
Was saved.
Today,
About 650 people live here year-round on wards and Algonquin Islands.
The land itself is held in trust,
Protected for future generations.
The residents do not own the land,
But they do own their homes.
Cottages and houses that carry the marks of history,
Care,
And creativity.
For anyone dreaming of living here,
You should know homes cannot be bought or sold in the usual way.
Instead,
The Island Home Waiting List,
A fair and thoughtful process,
Has been designed to keep the community strong.
When a house becomes available,
Someone on the list may purchase it at a price set by the trust.
And in this way,
The Island remains a living,
Breathing neighbourhood,
Shaped not by speculation,
But by connection,
Care,
And continuity.
The homes here on the Island are as unique as their gardens.
Wooden structures painted in bright colours,
Some with whimsical handmade details,
Surrounded by flowers that spill over fences in joyful abundance.
Walking along the narrow lanes,
You'll notice the difference right away.
There are no cars here,
Only the soft whirl of bicycles,
The gentle creak of garden gates,
The steady rhythm of life moving at a slower,
Kinder pace.
When winter arrives,
The Islands remain just as alive,
Though quieter.
The ferries continue to glide across the frozen harbour,
Carrying residents bundled warmly against the cold.
From the docks,
Groceries are pulled in little wagons,
Snow gathers on rooftops,
And the gardens hibernate under the cold white quilt of snow.
Even then,
In the quiet of winter,
The sense of community endures,
Strong,
Resilient,
And rooted in the Island itself.
Even the Riviera,
The charming cafe oasis I had discovered,
Carries its own quiet history.
It was once known as the Rectory,
Built in 1948 as a home for the local priest.
Its peaceful presence framed by forest and gardens.
Later,
It was transformed into a cafe,
With a beautiful shaded patio that invites visitors to pause and rest beneath its trees.
Just beyond its gate lies the boardwalk,
Opening onto views of the lake itself.
Calm,
Wide,
And reflective.
From time to time,
The cafe hosts local art exhibits,
Offering glimpses of the Island's creative spirit.
Photographs,
Paintings,
And works that reflect the same sense of calm and connection found in the landscape outside.
Here,
Time seems to slow.
The beauty of nature,
Of memory,
Of community settles into you,
Just as it did for me that day.
Maybe one day you'll visit the Island and see for yourself.
As evening falls,
The sun begins to set.
The Toronto Islands soften into a quiet glow.
Waters lap gently against the shore.
The scent of earth,
Water,
And flower blossoms drift on the breeze.
Birds settle for the night into their nests,
Their songs quieting as the night deepens.
Lanterns flicker in cottage windows,
Casting warm light across the paths.
Here,
In this sanctuary,
You are safe.
You are calm.
You are peaceful.
Imagine this subtle rhythm of the Island,
The sound of water against the shore,
The hush of the wind through the leaves.
Allow yourself to drift even deeper into relaxation,
Into rest,
Into dreams,
Into stillness.
Sweet dreams,
My friend,
And goodnight.
