Broad Cove August 2013

My loves,

This summer we took our first camping trip as a family of four. It was wonderful. Perfect. The sun was full, the night sky was clear, the beach, just minutes from our home in the woods, was bound by ocean on one side and river on the other. We toasted sticky pink marshmallows, ate ice cream from a lighthouse, and rolled, jumped and toddled from bouncy air mattress to bouncy air mattress. 

As we packed up all of our many necessities and sketched out the trip home in our minds, I longed already for next year's adventure. We were less than two hours from our day-to-day and passed nine other families in tents on our way to and from the (loveliest of) bathrooms, but it felt like we had crossed the sea. Looking down and seeing the two most beautiful smiles and nothing else, no dirty floors, no unfolded laundry, no swell of e-mails waiting to be answered, was my most cherished sight this summer. There is power and beauty in stepping away from the unnecessary, and so much is unnecessary; a most moving and welcome lesson.

Frances, you adored the Englishtown ferry. Your cried for forty-five minutes after our short return trip on the Torquil McLean, pleading with us to take you back. You drank from your first water fountain, rediscovered a love of colouring, went to bed late and woke up early, lost a small cow friend on the beach, and spent lots of time exploring the back of Grandad's truck.

Charlie, you discovered graham crackers, had all your naps in your dad's arms, learned, after some resistance, how to sleep a in moving vehicle, shared and loved mama's carrot soup, ate a lot of grass and pebbles, delighted in scooting in and out of the tent, were ever charming and sweet with very little sleep, and seemed to bask in having all of us so close by all the time.