I thought I would start my first post off by backtracking a bit, and telling you the story of how we got here.
I grew up in a small town, graduated from school and moved to Toronto where I got my first adult job as a teacher. Following one of the craziest decisions I’ve ever made in my life, I left my job to open up a stationery shop in the city, where we carry fountain pens and inks and paper – things I used to be secretly in love with, and now am publicly so.
I’ve spent a glorious decade of my life living and loving living in Toronto – a big city full of strife over bike lanes and real estate prices, but also full of some really, really nice people and lots of great food and independent shops and neighbourhoods. It’s been tough but joyful years of teaching in inner city schools, and three crazy and marvelous years of seven-days-a-week and nose-to-the-grindstone at the shop.
But I think over the last little while, maybe since we had Caleb, who is now 2, I began wondering about this idea of being able to wander in the woods. In the woods woods, not in a park with some trees and a paved bicycle path and a garbage + recycling bin combo cleared by the city every two days. And not just an occasional hike out by the Don Valley, but to fully exist and realize the tiniest details of the changing seasons and all the miracles of life.
Signs were popping up everywhere! As you know they do, when you begin actively looking for them, so you can continue to harangue your long-suffering husband. I read an article about Japanese forest-bathing. I stumbled across Richard Louv’s book, Last Child in the Woods. My pen pal wrote to me about her blue egg laying Araucana hens.
So we began looking. I suppose as evidenced by the precious little life experience and knowledge we had before jumping into starting an independent business selling paper tools in a technology-obsessed world, decisions were made over the dinner table to leap in.
It took months and months and months, and let me tell you, it was some bonding time in the car together, getting mis-directions from Google maps for the first time ever, and then several times after that, packing up snacks for the road and breaking my previous rule of not letting Caleb eat in the car seat. We drove to Amherst Island, Kingston, Minden, Gravehurst, tiny towns and rural roads.
And we found our beauty, in the heart of Lake of Bays.
It’s 100 acres of mostly wooded land, with some established trails running through it, and a small lake that we share with our neighbour across it. It has a long driveway leading up to the house, so it’s hidden from view, but even the ride up the narrow driveway, with trees reaching over you, is sort of magical.
The house has a wood burning stove in the living room to heat the house, a laundry line for warmer days, and a kitchen table with a view out to the water. For the first time in Caleb’s tiny life, he has his own real bedroom – but he still prefers to sleep with us for now.
It’s in need of love, and good thing we have plenty.
There is/was an old giant tent shed that we had hoped to use for our micro truck to plow the driveway and upkeep the trails, but it collapsed with the first really heavy snow. The garage door is broken, and the kitchen needs a back splash on its walls. There’s a beautiful sun room in the walkout basement that leads right out into the backyard with views of the lake, but it’s not winterized. There are loose dreams of renovating, but those are far off in the distance.
For now, we’ve got big plans. I suppose I should I’ve got big plans, and I’m roping Jon and whoever else is willing in.
I’ve ordered in some seed catalogues, and I’m hoping for some vegetables, and maybe a fruit tree or two. Building a compost that won’t attract bears, pulling logs in from the land to keep us warm for the upcoming winter. This year, we’re hoping to build a few wood sheds, to store our firewood away from rain and snow – the pile is currently under a tarp, which is doing about a good a job as you might imagine a piece of plastic with holes in it to do.
But mostly, I have small plans – to sit by the fire and poke at it occasionally. To share afternoon snacks with Caleb. To walk the trails and peer into puddles. To write letters at the kitchen table. To watch the dog romp about in the snow.
To watch the water and tell the stories of a slower life.
making wild rice 