Off to Peterborough this weekend, to visit family and friends, which was delightful all around. The summer lingers, but not in a tired way, and autumn seems like a possibility rather than a sorry fate. My dad took us out for breakfast Saturday, and practised our throwing arms. We went camping Saturday night, using our new tent for the first time (a charm). It was a gorgeous night, and we had a brilliant fire, roasted smores, saw fireworks across the lake, the sky thick with stars-- we saw the milky way! Retiring to bed with the cricket hum, and then the dog on the neighbouring campsite started barking, howling. The howling kept us up most of the night. From time to time an inhabitant of one of the tents there would call out "Shut the f*ck up Darcy." Because apparently the dog's name was Darcy. Dog didn't understand English, however, and so the language was ineffectual. Someone else came over and tried to kept them to quiet the dog around 3:30 but they just ignored her. We got up then for the bathroom and the moon was so bright we didn't need a flashlight. Soon the sun rose, and Darcy kept on. Geese were honking. It was morning. I'd slept that night on the cold hard ground, and I had hardly slept at all. This doesn't mean that camping wasn't hilariously wonderful, but just that Sunday was shot to hell \as we spent the day en-mattress. Mom-cooked dinner, and then out in downtown Peterborough for fatigue-laden hijinx. Fun was had. We came back to Toronto this morning.
