And so, it is almost back to reality. Just enjoying a few last days at a lovely cottage on Otty Lake near Perth, Ontario. Feeding three handsome, intelligent 16-year-old boys. And one of them is mine, all mine.
Watching them play, talk and joust. Cooking, cleaning and still a bit of time to read and swim and process my stay at the Leighton Artists' Colony in Banff. The sky is not as blue, and the clouds not as big here as they were in Banff. But then, I love baby blue and little fluffs of clouds too.
My husband says the sky is bluer in Banff because there is thinner air and less moisture in the mountains at the higher altitude. So, the sunlight isn’t scattered as much as here in Ontario, which is nearer sea level.
Of course, I probably wouldn’t need to ask him the question if I had just taken science in high school. Alas, in the early 1970s, you could get through high school with no science! I did! I hated science at the time and swore I would never go near a career that needed it. That’s how I ended up in agriculture, of course.
Speaking of the 1970s, I spent a summer on Adam Lake near Perth when I was just a few years older than the boys. That was with my much loved friend Margaret. Swimming, writing, walking, listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.
Remember 'Our House'? "Our house, is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard. Now everything is easy, 'cause of you."
I remember getting stranded at the end of the lake in a canoe by myself. It was windy and I couldn't paddle very well, or strongly enough against the wind. Margaret was away working for the day. I was scared for a bit and then realized I wasn't far from a shore, even if it wasn't the right shore. But I just kept paddling, harder and harder and I made it back. I usually do.
Then there was the special Friday night, with a full moon, when I headed out to a party at another cottage and got lost in the woods. It was a dreamlike voyage. So beautiful. There I was, carrying a 12-pack of beer (a little heavy for a 100-pound lightweight) with no bottle opener and a pack of cigarettes with no lighter--there's 18-year-old planning for you! I wandered and wandered until I had no idea where I was. But I was not afraid then. It was too beautiful a night and it is seared into my memory.
I came upon a little log cabin. I knew it. It was across the lake from Margaret's cottage. At least I could tell where I was, sort of. By this time it was close to midnight. No lights were on. But I knocked anyway and called out. "Hello? Is anyone home? Sorry to bother you, but I'm lost."
It wasn't long before a light snapped on. Two sweet little old ladies came to the door in night gowns and night caps. (Really!)
They invited me in and suggested I spend the night. They would make me a nice breakfast in the morning, they said. I declined. I couldn't contact Margaret and was afraid she would worry if I didn't return. They seemed disappointed, but sent me on my way with directions back to the road and to Margaret's cottage. And away I went, this time with an opened beer and a borrowed pack of matches.
They were so sweet! It's the only word for them. Do people like that still exist? Where are they? I want to know them.
I made it back, the party abandoned and spent the rest of the night listening to the loons calling.
Just like now, 37 years later.
And I am home, sweet home.
Watching them play, talk and joust. Cooking, cleaning and still a bit of time to read and swim and process my stay at the Leighton Artists' Colony in Banff. The sky is not as blue, and the clouds not as big here as they were in Banff. But then, I love baby blue and little fluffs of clouds too.
My husband says the sky is bluer in Banff because there is thinner air and less moisture in the mountains at the higher altitude. So, the sunlight isn’t scattered as much as here in Ontario, which is nearer sea level.
Of course, I probably wouldn’t need to ask him the question if I had just taken science in high school. Alas, in the early 1970s, you could get through high school with no science! I did! I hated science at the time and swore I would never go near a career that needed it. That’s how I ended up in agriculture, of course.
Speaking of the 1970s, I spent a summer on Adam Lake near Perth when I was just a few years older than the boys. That was with my much loved friend Margaret. Swimming, writing, walking, listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.
Remember 'Our House'? "Our house, is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard. Now everything is easy, 'cause of you."
I remember getting stranded at the end of the lake in a canoe by myself. It was windy and I couldn't paddle very well, or strongly enough against the wind. Margaret was away working for the day. I was scared for a bit and then realized I wasn't far from a shore, even if it wasn't the right shore. But I just kept paddling, harder and harder and I made it back. I usually do.
Then there was the special Friday night, with a full moon, when I headed out to a party at another cottage and got lost in the woods. It was a dreamlike voyage. So beautiful. There I was, carrying a 12-pack of beer (a little heavy for a 100-pound lightweight) with no bottle opener and a pack of cigarettes with no lighter--there's 18-year-old planning for you! I wandered and wandered until I had no idea where I was. But I was not afraid then. It was too beautiful a night and it is seared into my memory.
I came upon a little log cabin. I knew it. It was across the lake from Margaret's cottage. At least I could tell where I was, sort of. By this time it was close to midnight. No lights were on. But I knocked anyway and called out. "Hello? Is anyone home? Sorry to bother you, but I'm lost."
It wasn't long before a light snapped on. Two sweet little old ladies came to the door in night gowns and night caps. (Really!)
They invited me in and suggested I spend the night. They would make me a nice breakfast in the morning, they said. I declined. I couldn't contact Margaret and was afraid she would worry if I didn't return. They seemed disappointed, but sent me on my way with directions back to the road and to Margaret's cottage. And away I went, this time with an opened beer and a borrowed pack of matches.
They were so sweet! It's the only word for them. Do people like that still exist? Where are they? I want to know them.
I made it back, the party abandoned and spent the rest of the night listening to the loons calling.
Just like now, 37 years later.
And I am home, sweet home.