The forecast for the weekend was wet. Wet plus wet plus wet plus MORE WET.
Look. Each pine needle had its own raindrop.
Forget the rain. There was a pear tree on the south shore we had agreed to pick while the owners were gone on vacation. I love pears, especially hard, green ones.
Now I'm looking for a recipe to make pears in brandy, if anyone has one they'd like to pass along.
The next part of our trip was visiting friends in North Hatley. Despite the forecast, we still planned to go camping. Who could resist with that view onto Lake Massawippi? In the afternoon when R was setting up the tent, we thought we might hear the water lapping on the shore as we fell asleep. What we heard was rain, and when it wasn't raining--which it mostly was--the crickets. Crickets are louder when you're on the ground with them. And rain, as everyone knows, is louder when you're inside a tent.
Our tent held out till the morning when a fine drizzle started to seep through the fabric. The edges of our sleeping bags were waterlogged. The air mattress had deflated. Nothing was so terrible that a steaming latte, croissant, and fresh blueberries couldn't fix.
That field, by the way, is not unkempt. The grass has been left to grow like that. Other parts of the property have been landscaped with sculpture installations. The mastermind is Pat Webster who can be found at http://www.siteandinsight.com/
Although I took lots of pictures, mine aren't as fine as the ones you can see on her blog, so have a look at it.
I'll just show you my favourite, which is the bed of moss:
This belongs to an installation piece in memory of the hotel that once stood on this site and burned down in 1909.
We slept in a very comfortable dry bed on our second night. Also with a view on the lake and to the sound of rain.
It was dry long enough that I went swimming. I had company on the first day, but on the second I was told that it was too grey for everyone else. I don't need sun to love being in a lake.
The last time I was here, it was sunny and warm and there was a wedding.
She's about to say something and I was waiting to hear what. She can't say much yet, but she's getting ready. You can see it in her eyes.
We returned home to a garden bursting with tomatoes--too many to eat so I'm stewing them to freeze. And looking for a recipe for brandied pears. And following the pebbles I left myself to find the trail back into a new manuscript. I've read my Hansel & Gretel. I know birds eat crumbs.