And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees,
I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again
with the summer
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
We welcomed the first day of summer up at the lake this past weekend. We didn’t see much of the sun but it didn’t matter.
Unplugged (no internet, not even a phone) we built camp fires, played multiple contentious rounds of boggle and worked in some mandatory family poker: five card draw, Kings and Little Ones, is my game. There was plenty of swimming too — our golden won’t have it any other way.
I’m not sure there’s a place on earth I would rather be in the summertime than this simple stretch of unspoiled rural Ontario. Where local farmers still know something about raising animals and the drivers customarily wave every time they pass you by (a basic human civility that is so uncommon in the city, it still manages to make me blush). And those old gravel roads, the hallmark of country nostalgia, that wind their way into every corner without a beginning or an end. The further you go, the longer the journey becomes. I have walked these roads for hours at dawn without arriving at a single destination. I like it that way. Loose and undefined in my mind.
gorgeous local berries are now flooding our markets
taken by my son at sundown over the water