Must be a mistak

Eastern Ontario is often called the Land-o-lakes, because you can't walk a straight line without finding a lake every 10 kilometres or so. The roads must be driven cautiously. If not cautiously, you must keep your elbow on the horn to warn drivers around the bend. Along the cottage roads, every intersection is peppered with signs of family names. Poor old oak trees suffer from rows of signs nailed into them to indicate to visitors the turn-off for the family cottage.

As my grandfather and I were rounding another bend on the way back from picking up some firewood, I noticed one of the names: Mistak. It sure is. So I can just imagine the conversations with the teacher on the first day of school for the Mistak children.

They must deal with people always mistaking the spelling of their name. They must always correcting the mistaks of others.

You've got to respect the integrity of the name. Not only is it a mistak, but it appears to be a mistake.

I have to stop now, because the corny corner of my mind has no end of stupid jokes to make with that name.

To continue ridiculing that perfectly normal name would be a terrible mistak.