Cold on the heels of our Costa Rican hiatus came a February weekend away at the cottage. Just three pals jamming and exploring the wild side of snowy southern
wintertime cottaging at the lake. Ontario
As we departed
Dorset with our supplies in tow, the elements greeted us with heavy thick snow. The silent landscape a blur, we drove along the winding twenty kilometres, loaded supplies onto sleds and traipsed off into the deep white of the woods towards our home for the next couple of nights. Chris was generous in providing the venue for our little adventure, and the cottage woodstove was fired up as the outside temperature plummeted with the sunset. The cottage is cosy and charming, looking down and out over a pretty lake, ice and snow covered at this mid-winter season despite an unusually mild few weeks.
Saturday morning breaks with exquisite sunshine. We enjoy a hearty breakfast to set us up for a day of delight. We’re rewarded by heightened senses of dazzling light, bright, white snow, and clear, cold fresh air in our lungs. I am wearing the perfect hat, knitted by Gundi’s daughter Claudia and suggested to be destined for me by grand-daughter Sofie. It arrived in the mail just in time for our trip. The wind has dropped and the packed surface beneath our snowshoes and skis crunches loudly, breaking the silence. Ice-fishing snowmobilers whoosh by in streaks of powder white, heading for their huts. We sit serenely soaking up the glorious sun on the porch of a lovely old log cabin, part of a once-busy fishing camp. As we return “home”, the magnificent trees leading up the steep slope to the cottage are bathed in a late-afternoon glow, and so are we. The sun goes down, we pop open the wine, and Chris breaks into song, accompanied by guitar and crackling fire.