A weekend at the cottage

I lay on the wooden dock, my eyes closed, floating with it in the gently lapping waves along the shore of Stony Lake. Welcoming the sun. A motoroboat off in the distance, getting louder the further away it drives. Another one passes by, the driver, according to custom, waves a greeting. A power tool, maybe for cutting hedges – or is simply a lawn mower? - at one of the cottages nearby. I can't see many of them, tucked up in bays, on hills surrounded by trees, each with their own private perspective out on the lake.

Its the last day of August and the sun is shining bright in a clear blue sky. The ground was wet with late summer dew this morning, so it will take a few hours to warm it all up. I am looking forward to a swim then.

This is a little lake when compared to the likes of Superior and Huron where I made my camps last week. I can see the other side quite clearly. This is cottage country, a wee bit north from Peterborough, somewhere between Toronto and Ottawa. A weekend at the cottage is the essential Ontario experience, and so I'm glad for my friend Kristin, who lives in Ottawa and has this one and graciously had us there for the weekend.

Not only a weekend at the cottage, but also a reunion of sorts with Fran and Dan and Carolynn and Kristin. The last time most of us were together was exactly two months ago, June 29, in Amsterdam, a day we all saw fit to get drunk on a canal boat and jump into the Amstel River. Suitable that we'd come back together now, in our gorgeous native land, for another weekend before getting on with our new Canadian lives. And on a weekend like this there's bound to be somebody new to meet, and her name was, also, Jen.

The weather was not great. From Friday to Sunday, the sky was an unpredictable collection of cloud, sun and rain, and it was necessary to wear a sweater most of the time. When the sun did deign to come out and play for a bit on Saturday afternoon, we transformed quickly into bathing suits for a silly dip in the water.

The cottage really feels like a cottage, with a cottagey wooden interior. Wooden chairs and tables and cupboards that seem like they sprouted from the walls spontaneously one day a long time ago and have been witnessing the comings and goings through the cottage ever since. Old comfy sofas and two of those deep round chairs that you curl up and get lost in while reading and napping away an afternoon. A bookshelf teeming with books and movies on VHS tapes. A variety of board games and card games scattered across surfaces and in crevaces where they were probably placed after the last time they’d been played, waiting to be chosen again for a drizzly afternoon’s entertainment. Folding accordion doors like you might otherwise find in front of closets, open up to reveal bedrooms and a bathroom. A telephone. A TV. An old record player with a small collection of random records, and, on the other side of the room, a little “ghettoblaster” style stereo with a pile of cassette tapes and a few CDs next to it; equally random and long abandonded since they had gone out of style. Photographs of the family that grew up in this cottage, who have been coming to it for summers as far back as they can remember. Old knick knacks lining the fireplace. Trashy magazines lying everywhere, waiting to be devoured. And they were.

Windows overlooking the grass outside, leading down to the lake. A few lawn chairs strewn across the grass, facing out to the water. A dock floating quietly just ahead. Outside beyond the edge where the grass meets the water, you can see across the lake. Motorboats whizzing by, canoes quietly slicing through the water. Small boat houses backing out onto the water. A bacci set.

We played bacci, settlers, train ride, scattergories and charades. We took boats and floatation beds out on the water. We cooked scrumptious breakfasts and dinners, we drank quite an impressive amount of beer and wine. We napped. We read books and cooking magazines and got caught up on famous people fashions and gossip. We watched the rain fall and the clouds change. Dan caught a few little fish with a fishing rod off the dock.

And on the day they left me there by myself, the sun went down in a blaze of glory, the stars came out at night and the following day I layed on the dock in the sun. And I felt very relaxed.

Some illustrations of the weekend:

Stony Lake Cottage