For the fourth year in a row, we headed to Paul and Siobhan’s cottage north of Hunstville on the Labour Day long weekend to celebrate the last gasp of summer holidays with some of our best friends. While Camp Hideaway — or, Morley North — seems relatively new to me and Jeremy, Sam can’t remember a summer that didn’t include a blissful stint in this idyllic acreage. (Remember this? And this?)
Sam and Carter (and Hudson) leapt from the car before it even came to a full stop and didn’t look back: the beach, the boats, the marsh, the tree fort, the toys, the woods, the bunk beds, the fire pit, the smores, the ATV rides, the frog catching and fish almost-catching...what’s not to love?
Like a living growth chart, the cottage property makes Sam’s leaps in ability and independence clearly evident each year. This time, he and Carter ran into the water and swam strongly out to Splash Island for some jumping/flipping water action … by themselves. We were on the beach of course, but no longer “within arm’s reach.” They’re swimmers. They're fine. Which is not to say that no one needed a lil’ towel snuggle with a sensibly bundled Mommy after the fun (the air was somewhat cooler than the water!).
Each morning, the boys tucked away massive breakfasts, grabbed their cowboy hats and sped off in search of fun while we grown-ups spent the days relaxing—chatting over daiquiris, playing cards, or flopped out reading. Sam, Carter and Mason (and sometimes Chloe-bug, Hannah and Cassie) played long games of tag, wrestling, and “spy,” hunkering down in the Rustic when the rains came and then scrambling back to the tree fort when the skies cleared. We cocked an ear from time to time, to make sure we could hear everyone, but otherwise we left them to their own adventures.
Adam apparently taught them how to chop wood (I didn’t ask any questions), and Paul took them out for a few boat rides around the lake (our first at sunset) and he and Jeremy took them for a nice long spell of fishing (in a light rain). Sam caught a wee one—the only catch of the day—and Jeremy caught an accidental mini-movie of the moment when he went to snap a photo. That night, Paul ATV’d the kids one by one around the site at dusk, following our communal (and yummy) pulled pork dinner. We could hear Sam’s excited commentary around the full loop, and the look of happiness on his face as they zipped past our line of picnic tables was priceless.
Then we all piled down to the lake for the traditional Labour Day Weekend campfire and fireworks show. No kidding around here: we do it up big. The kids perch up on the big rock and watch as volley after volley is sent up from a boat in the bay (the men ducking as the spent cardboard canisters hail down around them!). After the last whiz-bang-pop, we shuffle the sleepy boys off to the cabin.
Summer’s last hurrah. It comes up way too fast.
Sam and Carter (and Hudson) leapt from the car before it even came to a full stop and didn’t look back: the beach, the boats, the marsh, the tree fort, the toys, the woods, the bunk beds, the fire pit, the smores, the ATV rides, the frog catching and fish almost-catching...what’s not to love?
Like a living growth chart, the cottage property makes Sam’s leaps in ability and independence clearly evident each year. This time, he and Carter ran into the water and swam strongly out to Splash Island for some jumping/flipping water action … by themselves. We were on the beach of course, but no longer “within arm’s reach.” They’re swimmers. They're fine. Which is not to say that no one needed a lil’ towel snuggle with a sensibly bundled Mommy after the fun (the air was somewhat cooler than the water!).
Each morning, the boys tucked away massive breakfasts, grabbed their cowboy hats and sped off in search of fun while we grown-ups spent the days relaxing—chatting over daiquiris, playing cards, or flopped out reading. Sam, Carter and Mason (and sometimes Chloe-bug, Hannah and Cassie) played long games of tag, wrestling, and “spy,” hunkering down in the Rustic when the rains came and then scrambling back to the tree fort when the skies cleared. We cocked an ear from time to time, to make sure we could hear everyone, but otherwise we left them to their own adventures.
Adam apparently taught them how to chop wood (I didn’t ask any questions), and Paul took them out for a few boat rides around the lake (our first at sunset) and he and Jeremy took them for a nice long spell of fishing (in a light rain). Sam caught a wee one—the only catch of the day—and Jeremy caught an accidental mini-movie of the moment when he went to snap a photo. That night, Paul ATV’d the kids one by one around the site at dusk, following our communal (and yummy) pulled pork dinner. We could hear Sam’s excited commentary around the full loop, and the look of happiness on his face as they zipped past our line of picnic tables was priceless.
Then we all piled down to the lake for the traditional Labour Day Weekend campfire and fireworks show. No kidding around here: we do it up big. The kids perch up on the big rock and watch as volley after volley is sent up from a boat in the bay (the men ducking as the spent cardboard canisters hail down around them!). After the last whiz-bang-pop, we shuffle the sleepy boys off to the cabin.
Summer’s last hurrah. It comes up way too fast.
No comments:
Post a Comment