I was planning on writing about something else today, but since it’s Canada Day, what better to talk about than life at the cottage.
The Monarch butterflies are back. They are my excuse for letting the milkweed run rampant near the septic bed. Milkweed should, of course, be entitled to aid and abet butterflies with abandon, but (and you probably knew there was going to be a but), sometimes it takes too much advantage of my good graces and I have to yank out several dozen offspring lest it choke out the daisies. I am not ashamed to say that’s the most gardening (if you can call it that) you’ll ever see me do. I just let nature take its course, which is a self-justifying way of saying I like the idea of gardening more than gardening per se.
The Provincial Park people are back. The park sits at the end of a very long, very wide bay and my cottage is at the other end, high on a hill with a vista overlooking said bay. Park people should, of course, be entitled to full enjoyment of their camping experience. One way they do this is via obtaining canoes and kayaks from the park’s rent-me facility. I’m sure this puts many pennies into the government’s piggybank so I’m in full support of these non-motorized endeavors, but (and you probably knew there was going to be a but), couldn’t the park let the canoe newbies know it works better if both paddlers are pointed in the same direction? If I happen to be down at the dock and see any of them flailing about trying to get their conveyance to move in a straight line, I point this out. To no avail. Also, could the park please tell the happy campers the prevailing wind comes from the northwest, the direction in which they must make their way back. While the swells don’t approach Lake Superior peril, the afternoon headwind is not to be trifled with. To them I say your lack of planning does not equate to my emergency.
Speaking of docks, the dock spiders are back. To be honest, I don’t think they go anywhere, just into suspended animation while dreaming of basking on the dock in a summer that’s yet to appear. This year’s crop looks a little different, in as much as I get close enough to them to discern their physical features, which is about the length of five ten-foot poles. But enough about the spiders. There is now a fish, or maybe more than one, perish the thought, hanging around the crib that supports the dock. Fish should, of course, be entitled to full enjoyment of their lake environment, but (and you probably knew there was going to be a but), it’s behaving like an ill-tempered sea bass, (note the Austin Powers reference?) nipping at exposed body parts. This does not bode well for future skinny dips.
But the wildfire smoke is gone until it’s back, the long days are back until they’re gone, and for the most part all’s well with the world, at least on my 1.8 acre swath of it. Happy Canada Day!