A warm evening leaves me a little groggy from lack of sleep and I wake early Monday morning to the sounds of a chainsaw droning and hacking away across the bay of the lake. I discover later from Joanne that one of the cottagers is building a log house of their dreams. But it is Monday, and a work day after all.

I wander upstairs in my pj’s to find that Joanne has already made a pot of coffee. I pour a generous cup, root through the fridge for CREAM! (I must be on vacation) and head out to the beautiful deck high in the trees above the bay and looking down Blackdonald Lake. Truman Capote’s grippingly written ‘In Cold Blood” is my Muskoka Chair companion for the next couple of days and I enjoy the morning coolness, my coffee and the morning birds. Joanne soon joins me and we chat and drink coffee until well after 10:30, when Adrienne creeps up the stairs still asleep, all of us craning our necks to try and see how far the log cabin has progressed.

From Left: Good Morning! Can't you hear the chainsaw?

For the next three days we swim, snooze, bake, eat, read in the boat house, swim, eat, snooze, eat, bake, and eat.


Summer at the cottage


From left: The Boathouse inside and out, Joanne and Ruby


From left: Ruby and Adrienne in the lake, Relaxing in the boathouse, Ruby and Owen

Joanne and I have a cocktail back on the deck where we started our day and watch the sun set over the rolling hills to the west. We play some games and plan our dinner as the early evening encroaches. A canoe with two intrepid paddlers breaks the still bay below us.

Sunset paddlers

As the darkness envelopes the cottage we notice the wind picking up and the phone rings from Toronto. A huge storm is heading our way we are told, having already pulled down trees and power lines in the city as it makes its way east. We look out at the ever-brightening sky; a long band of spectacular and aggressive lightning slowly but certainly heading our way.

My resignation became effective immediately.

I find myself with an additional two weeks of free time to hang out and enjoy the summer so I jump at the chance to take some time for myself at John's cousin Jim and Joanne’s cottage. John is in Vancouver for business until Wednesday afternoon and I have organized Katie Spencley to look after Sophia and Sydney for the four days we will be away. Katie will also look after the kitties when we leave for Las Vegas Thursday evening for 4 days with our friends Peggy and Martin. But more on that later.

Off I go.

The drive is blissfully un-eventful. Everyone is heading back to the city as I pull out of 50L on schedule at 11:00 am. It is a 4 to 4.5 hour drive east and then north to Blackdonald Lake and the Madawaska Highlands beckon me on for some swimming and reading and catching up with Joanne and her daughter Adrienne, their chocolate lab, Ruby and their handsome, foundling cat, Owen. I make a quick stop for gas and food at one of the rest stops an hour before I head north at Napanee. The line-ups are littered with families and their squawking kids, cranky and crotchety; their summer vacations either just beginning or just ending.

I head north to Kaladar and then beyond Bon Echo taking the right hand turn at Griffith that will take me another half hour beyond to Chimo Road and the cottage. The pines and lakes of the Canadian Shield play out in front of me as Billy Joel serenades the scenery. I make up time on the seemingly uninhabited road. The occasional small towns of the Ottawa Valley bring me back down to the speed-limit and I pass hawkers in their road-side stalls, overflowing baskets of local wild blueberries and home baking filling their shelves.

I arrive just in time to share some sweet seasonal cherries with Jim before he takes William, their son, back to the city for work and summer school on Monday. I share a beer with Joanne on the front porch of the cottage while the beautiful, warm summer sun starts to redden the pines and maples, creating a beautiful red-orange dappled mosaic.


Sunset at Blackdonald Lake

Another day. We have settled into our routines. I leave by 7:15 and drive to my office, 30 kilometres straight up the Don Valley Parkway. Greg leaves 45 minutes later, and strolls to his office, a 6 minute walk away from home.

But the world intrudes in a most delightful way today. I arrive home to find an email waiting.

John,

I've been to the wedding you've got a picture of on your website from Prague - 27th July 2004. Actually, I was the bride. That's quite incredible. World is small, isn't it?

I thought you may like few more pics. Here you go.

Regards

Jitka

Jitka and I correspond a bit. She is Czech, but has lived in London for the last five years. She and her English fiance were married in Prague last July, and were receiving the cheers of the crowd as Greg and I wandered by the Old Town Hall in Prague. A friend of hers somehow discovered Jitka and Jon's picture on our website, and alerted Jitka.

We talk about life in London, and Jitka tells me that she and Jon hope to return soon to Prague, to live.

Her are a few more pictures of Jitka and Jon's wedding. Thank you for sharing them with us.

The power of the internet - the world truly becomes so small.

Happy Birthday to Frank Spencley!

Snow.

A gentle, big flake kind of snow, drifting across the sky like feathers falling from a flat grey sky.

A beautiful and welcoming snow but snow nonetheless.

Where are the winter boots? Any boots for that matter. Scarves? Gloves? Hats? Our bags have been dumped upstairs in the guest bedroom and we stumble over them, bewildered and groggy, still disoriented at the knowledge that we are home. Our clothes are stashed all over the house; suits and overcoats in John’s childhood room, some summer clothes hung hastily in the guest closet. We get the sense that we left in a hurry last December, shoes stuffed in side pouches of suitcases, sweaters, bathrobes and underwear folded willy-nilly in the suitcases. We now must unpack all of our summer clothes and re-pack them while we try and track down our winter clothes and find a place to store them for everyday wear. We seem to be pushing suitcases from one side of the room to the other.



Re-entry is hard. Very Hard.

Happy Birthday to Bob Forsey

Our eyes flutter open to the stewardess’ crackly, electronic voice announcing breakfast. We are just on another flight to somewhere; where are we headed and what time we are landing? I’m not entirely sure. Did we organize a transfer to our hotel and have we booked a tour yet? Not to worry I’m sure. I try to roll over in the seat and keep my eyes closed for a few more moments. What’s the weather there? Where is there? I have learned not to be too anxious about those things that I have no control over.

Amy, one of our stewardesses, has a very familiar twang to her congenial and polite voice; she is either from New Brunswick or from the upper reaches of the Ottawa Valley. My groggy head starts to remember that we are on an Air Canada flight headed for home, or our concept of home for the next bit of time whilst our new understanding of home becomes more of a concrete reality.

We are going home after our year away from home, traipsing, touring, travelling and traversing the globe, following summer.

We touch down to heavy fog, encrusted with the remnants of yesterday’s snowfall. Cold sleet and slick conditions greet our arrival home. I can feel our skin starting to dry and crack in the unusually cold weather; our lips quickly follow suit. I pull out my fleece from Montpellier and my scarf from Paris but they are not enough to keep the bitterness from creeping in at the back of my neck or the bottom of my pant cuff. With the last minute rescheduling of our flight yesterday, my brother Gary is not available to pick us up at the airport as originally planned so we have arranged an airport transfer to deliver us to Stratford and to John’s mom’s house, where we will settle in until the New Year.

In many ways I am indifferent with how our trip has ended. The romantic in me had hoped for the big bang finish. But there was no big bang finish, no sentimentality, no fireworks. Once the decision to go was made, we were packed and out the door quickly and with no regrets, very much like our original decision to take a year off and follow summer. Perhaps this is the way our trip was meant to end; easily and on our terms. On the other hand, it was obvious that we were ready for home and some familiarity.

Now the reality will start to settle in.

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