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The mornings on the lake are peaceful. The water is still and the neighbours asleep. I slide the canoe into the water and go for a morning paddle for about an hour. I visit a beaver lodge west of my cabin but it doesn’t look like there has been recent activity.
Back at the cabin I do practical, housewife-y stuff, then go for a swim in the lake. Afterwards, I wash myself in a primitive, outdoor shower enclosure that is basically just a tarpaulin wrapped around some hemlock trees. I have placed a couple of boards on the ground so my feet don’t get covered with wet pine needles and earth.
Taking a bath entails boiling a large portion of water, bringing the hot water and a pail of lake water down to the bath enclosure along with soap, shampoo and a wash basin. It is a rather bracing process to stand wet and nude in the great outdoors. Brrr!
Afterwards, I explore my little patch of Canada. Down by the edge of the lake the water slaps lazily against the rocks. The tiny sundew sparkle stickily in the sun. The cranberries are plump but not yet ripe. Further inland there are lots of ripe huckleberries, some tiny blueberries and a few juicy blackberries to snack on. The wind rustles through the trees. A woodpecker knocks in the distance. A squirrel chatters. A blue jay screeches. A hummingbird whizzes by.
I bring the air mattress down to the water and lie down for a good read in the company of my trusty canoe. Later on, I go for a walk and spot a porcupine. It waddles across the road right in front of me, completely unperturbed, probably feeling safe inside its coat of quills. It lumbers along slowly, taking shuffling steps as if wearing slippers that are a couple of sizes too large.
Soon it is dusk again and I cook a simple meal of baked acorn squash and a pork chop, with fresh Canadian blueberries for dessert.
The days pass this way. I read, I write, I swim. I canoe, and hike, and listen to the silence and the sounds. I dream and dawdle and enjoy. I empty my brain and fill my heart.
