I’m at Ruth’s cottage, built on massive Precambrian boulders of Muskoka granite, breathing air scented with pine, listening to the warbling of the loons. Yes, we are also invaded by cockroaches and ants, and there are occasionally dock spiders in the kayaks. The weather switched on Sunday instantly, from hot to cold and back again. But it’s heaven.
Annie and I came up Friday midday and are leaving this rainy afternoon – four days of bliss. We get along so well, the three of us, politically aligned with similar interests. We talk about world affairs, recipes, health, family, books, movies, aging, and of course, a lot about the past. Ruth gave me a book she enjoyed – The Life Cycle of the Common Octopus by Emma Knight – and I devoured it. Recommended. A rom-com tale with heart and depth, perfect cottage reading.
We watched two episodes of a fun British series called Ludwig every evening while eating Annie’s chocolate cake. Annie swam far more than I, but I swam twice a day, and before and after the weekend we swam without a suit as there’s hardly anyone on the lake. A. and I kayaked twice. We cooked healthy meals – last night shrimp with rice and baked sweet potatoes, sweet and sour red cabbage salad, and of course the cake. We drank gin and tonic and rosé. We laughed a lot and worked hard at the NYT’s Spelling Bee. A. and I walked twice, forest bathing around Ruth’s island with our socks over our pants because of ticks. We listened to a Lockdown University webinar about memoir with Denis Hirson, to see if I could learn anything new. I didn’t, but Denis said things in an interesting way that I will steal.
Ruth owns much of this island; the owner of the rest has died and his cottage will be eventually be sold, but for now, it’s all ours. On the weekend, there’s noise from the unwelcome jet-skis, wake boats, and speedboats, but during the week it’s remarkably quiet. Up here, it’s hard to believe there’s trouble in the world. We have not shut it out, there’s powerful internet connection so we’re reading the papers and hearing the bad news – that the vile PP has been re-elected, for example, disgusting. Trump and Putin. Horrible.
Ruth and her husband bought this place in 1970 – it had no electricity or plumbing, and through the years, they’ve added and improved. It’s comfortable, warm, and well-stocked with everything we could want except, I joked, a manservant. Ruth, who’s 86, has spent the entire summer here without coming back to the city once; she organizes shifts of guests so she’s never alone. She is the liveliest, most engaged person I know. Extraordinary.
A few years ago, when A. and I came up, I’d forgotten the bag with my shoes, so had only the flimsy sandals I’d worn up. But – miracle – both these women have the same big feet! Size 10 ½! What are the chances? So I could borrow all the shoes I could possibly want. Kindred spirits in every way.
These four days have made my summer. Today, back to reality – the news, house, garden, family – pollution, homeless people, Pierre Poilievre. But still, this morning, although it’s grey and chilly and will rain, there are two loons floating nearby, Ruth just made egg-in-a-basket for breakfast, we have laughed a hundred times, we’ve together got 34 words so far in Spelling Bee and are about to try it again. There’s a Z.
Blessings.
