Home. Let's Just Go Home

Closing day at the lake is always a bit of a juxtaposition of emotions.

It seems every year there is never quite enough lake days. But this year, for the first time, it feels like we've had a decent amount of time out there even though summer was really slow in arriving.

This year we experienced no smoke from forest fires (a first in quite a number of years) and also had no campfire bans. (Again, a first in many years)

It's kind of an odd thing.

We go to the lake to relax.

And we do.

Which is weird because there are far less conveniences than we have at home.

We have power and water and great phone and internet reception, so it's not like we are disconnected from the world. But somehow it just seems to recharge our batteries to wear dirty clothes, smell of smoke and eat hot dogs.

When we are not at the lake during the summer months we are always planning when we are going to next be there. We are always thinking about the flowers. Do they need water? Are they growing? Has the resident wild rabbit eaten them? We are always planning for the next project - the shed, the deck, the wood shed, new firepit, grass.... always something.

October 1st the power and water get shut off for the season.

It's always sad when October arrives.

This year the temperatures were still in the mid 20's with no sign of frost. This is practically unheard of in our area. We filled the tanks with water and used the generator to extend the season for a while longer.

But today, we decided, was the day.

Time to button things up.

It was twenty degrees.

While it's always sad to winterize and close things up, it just seemed wrong to do it while wearing a tank top and flip flops. Usually we can see our breath and are wearing mittens.

But sad as it was, looking in the rearview mirror and seeing both trailers with their winter coats on, the gazebo put away and the place looking barren and abandoned, there's a sense of peace.

Home. Let's just go home, James.

Lake time.

It's kinda like vacations; Lots of planning and excitement. So much fun you don't ever want it to end. But when you finally board that plane, or turn that car toward home, a relief washes over you. Home.

Let's just go home.

Funny, you should say that.

You are probably tired of hearing about my cheese making adventure. But I figure if you’ve got nothing better to do than hang out on Facebook, you might as well come along with me.

At least it’s got me blogging after a very long absence.

The cheese making guru instructor, Tracey, is a lovely human being. She’s a funny down to earth character with a fantastic British accent. She has only been in Canada eleven years.

Towards the end of the session, she was laughing about the differences in words and pronunciations between England and Canada. She told the story of her teenage daughter rightly being horrified after they had been in Canada for a while when she referred to eating faggots. Which I think are meatballs made with pig guts or something. And of course she can no long call cigarettes fags, as they do in England.

Tracey commented about having to think about the word oregano every time she says it. She had said it a few times throughout the day and I noticed that in the course of conversation she sometimes said it “Oh raygun oh” like a Canadian and other times she pronounced it her native way of “Or a ganno.”

My favourite word to hear someone with a British accent say is “aluminum.”

So I smirked as I pointed to the stock pots we were making our cheese in, and said to Tracey, “Just humour me and say what these pots are made of.”

She looked me right in the eye and said, “Stainless steel.”

If you want to check out Tracey's cheese making page you can CLICK HERE

Making a Little Cheese with My Whine

I’ve always loved school.

Well, let me clarify that a bit. I’ve always loved learning.

My high school records will show you that I skipped class 17 out of 52 days in grade 10 math and I pulled off a solid B. Why did I skip? Because I could, I suppose.

But in the years since, I’ve taken many different classes and courses, both online and in person. Some I have finished, others I’ve jumped in all gung-ho and fizzled out before the end.

It seems every year, come September, I feel the pull again to go to school. For what, I dunno. I have no intention of launching a career at this stage of the game. I am retired. And grateful to be.

But this year was no different. I committed to two online art courses, a bible study and writing seminar.

And then today.

Today, as I innocently lay in bed drinking my morning coffee perusing emails and support groups for said classes, an ad scrolls across my social media feed: Cheese School. Cheese School! Who knew there was such a thing. Right here in my town.

I did a brief check-in with my hubby, then faster than you could say, “Charcuterie,” my Visa went cha-ching!

And I am enrolled in Cheese School.

Now maybe I will be motivated to delve into the Wine Tasting course (That never expires, thank goodness) that I registered for three years ago in September when I felt the pull of school.