I’m not quite that well-heeled, but I’d say I live in a great little riverside community with much the same attitude, in Canada. I grew up around Peterborough Ontario Canada, the ‘playground of the Kawarthas’. Watching the insane antics of the Toronto people on the lake my parents built their cottage on, which was close enough to our tow…
I’m not quite that well-heeled, but I’d say I live in a great little riverside community with much the same attitude, in Canada. I grew up around Peterborough Ontario Canada, the ‘playground of the Kawarthas’. Watching the insane antics of the Toronto people on the lake my parents built their cottage on, which was close enough to our town home I could ride my bicycle in from it, I always believed that it was stupid to live in a city longing for those few months a year you ran like mad in ridiculous traffic every Friday to get to your sweet spot at the cottage for the weekend. Where you ripped frantically around the lake on your noisemakers trying to show everyone else how much you were ‘enjoying’ yourself, and then fell into the long glum line of traffic back to Toronto again every Sunday. Ditch the city and figure out how to live at the cottage all the time. It shaped what I chose for a career long before the internet made working from home a horizon-expander: I became a nurse, and there are sick people, and therefore, jobs, everywhere. I wasn’t jailed to work in big cities. For the last 15 years, heading into retirement, we farmed in New Brunswick far from crazy crowds, but along came grandchildren, all back in Ontario. In 2019 we looked for a base in their midst, and luckily, bought just before COVID sent prices into orbit. Husband lives fishing and we lucked into one of the best spots on our stretch of water. You know you’re in the best company when, despite suffering financially from the lockdowns, which we largely ignored, you hear the local restaurant shipped pizzas down to Ottawa to feed the truckers in the Freedom Convoy every day it was on, and you see Freedom network newsletters on the counter. The guys in the parking lot at our little church banter back and forth about how full of meat their freezers are, for upcoming winters, and a buck-knife on the belt under the Dickies padded shirt is normal Sunday style. On Canada Day, the entire river blows up with firework displays answering each other. This year we had a fire ban due to extreme dryness; we had a forest fire a few miles downriver. But, my son, a fireworks tech, is gleefully preparing our display for Labor Day, to compensate.
I’m not quite that well-heeled, but I’d say I live in a great little riverside community with much the same attitude, in Canada. I grew up around Peterborough Ontario Canada, the ‘playground of the Kawarthas’. Watching the insane antics of the Toronto people on the lake my parents built their cottage on, which was close enough to our town home I could ride my bicycle in from it, I always believed that it was stupid to live in a city longing for those few months a year you ran like mad in ridiculous traffic every Friday to get to your sweet spot at the cottage for the weekend. Where you ripped frantically around the lake on your noisemakers trying to show everyone else how much you were ‘enjoying’ yourself, and then fell into the long glum line of traffic back to Toronto again every Sunday. Ditch the city and figure out how to live at the cottage all the time. It shaped what I chose for a career long before the internet made working from home a horizon-expander: I became a nurse, and there are sick people, and therefore, jobs, everywhere. I wasn’t jailed to work in big cities. For the last 15 years, heading into retirement, we farmed in New Brunswick far from crazy crowds, but along came grandchildren, all back in Ontario. In 2019 we looked for a base in their midst, and luckily, bought just before COVID sent prices into orbit. Husband lives fishing and we lucked into one of the best spots on our stretch of water. You know you’re in the best company when, despite suffering financially from the lockdowns, which we largely ignored, you hear the local restaurant shipped pizzas down to Ottawa to feed the truckers in the Freedom Convoy every day it was on, and you see Freedom network newsletters on the counter. The guys in the parking lot at our little church banter back and forth about how full of meat their freezers are, for upcoming winters, and a buck-knife on the belt under the Dickies padded shirt is normal Sunday style. On Canada Day, the entire river blows up with firework displays answering each other. This year we had a fire ban due to extreme dryness; we had a forest fire a few miles downriver. But, my son, a fireworks tech, is gleefully preparing our display for Labor Day, to compensate.