a photographer's diary
I haven’t been around much lately (bad dogmother, bad!) so as a little treat to Jeans, we brought her to our first Chihuahua meetup.
She was a bit shy at first (she takes after me) but she warmed up after a little while: got in a few sniffs, had a few treats, and even licked another dogmama’s leg (this is where she is not like me).
It was real fun, really cute and we can’t wait to do it again.
The food at the cottage was amazing. Healthy and fresh and yummy yummy yummy.
What I didn’t mention (and what probably makes it the most amazing) was that it was also almost entirely meat-, dairy- and wheat-free. For real. (Like, seriously.)
So, while I was missing the water like a long-lost love, I was welcomed back home by Husbo’s always warm-in-my-belly lovely cooking.
Which just so happened to include all of the above: meat, dairy AND wheat.
Okay, so I was put into a coma after eating it but.
It was worth it.
So I’m back!
Browned shoulders and bug bites and sand in my shoes.
The laughter was wild and the tears without shame.
I took hundreds of photos and still couldn’t capture it all.
I miss it already.
.
The red moon.
Synchronized hand stands.
Legs underwater.
The food the food the food the food.
Michelle‘s almond cheese magic.
The food was awesome. Did I mention the food was awesome? Awesome.
Laughs beside The Perfect Campfire (that Chris made, all by herself!).
Smores en route.
Singing and strumming.
Friends forever.
Beautiful spirits, standing in a line: Anila & Sarah & Danette & Michelle & Zoe & Chris (& me!).
I know I haven’t been an A+ blogger lately.
I’m going to say that all this heat has baked my brain but, really, the truth is that I don’t have air conditioning in my office. Though I guess that’s kinda the same. Two sides of the same coin kinda bag. No matter, I’m sticking with it.
Sitting in one’s east-facing office, without any kind of cooling mechanism to speak of, in front of a heat-generating computer, with all of your hot-as-heck hard drives blowing heat in your already blotchy and red face isn’t fun, let me tell you.
So, I’m packing up and heading north. But just for a few days.
It’s unintentionally become a sorta annual thing. It’s a silent writing retreat on Georgian Bay, facilitated by the amazing and awesome Chris Kay Fraser. I’ve been every summer for the last two, making this trip my third.
Basically, your days are like this. You wake up, do whatever you want, hopefully manage to wrestle some words on a page / laptop / napkin-if-you’re-desperate and, when the time of silence is nearing to a close (which officially happens at 3pm) the scent of freshly-baked cookies will come wafting on a breeze. At 3, Chris will ring a brass bell on the cottage porch where everyone will gather and share their day so far. Then there’s dinner and some group writing-workshop-y stuff in the evening and then bed. It’s all very relaxed, peaceful, supportive and all-around wonderfulness. Oh and did I mention there’s a canoe?
Anyway, it’s a little gift that I give myself and hopefully it will yield some stories for me to share with you one day.
In the meantime, here’s a little ditty of a slideshow that I made from the first time I went, in 2009. And here’s the itty bitty blog post from when I returned last year.
Wish I could tell you what to expect when I come back but, like it’s been for the last two years, even I will be surprised.
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Georgian Bay. June, 2010.
I don’t know what it is. Something about this year has been different.
Maybe it was summer’s slow start or that long and cold spring. Maybe we were late with the planting or perhaps I’m just impatient.
I don’t remember this. I don’t remember waiting waiting waiting. I only remember eating eating eating.
There’s nothing I can do except weed and water and wait but, thankfully, it’s all starting to come around anyway.
.
Tiny zucchini.
Tiny San Marzano tomatoes.
Tiny cherry tomatoes.
Not-so-tiny cayenne peppers.
Tiny grapes.
.
Tiny hopes.
We grew these from seed. And not because we wanted to.
I don’t really trust us. I prefer if someone else, someone who knows, could start ’em off first. Give us something to work with. Something ready to go.
But we tried anyway. With the pads of our nervous fingers, we pressed away a tiny patch of soil. Dropped in a seed the size of a pinhead and covered it up like a secret.
I didn’t know if it would work and we definitely didn’t grow every seed that was sown.
But these somehow managed to survive.
Seeing these little mounds emerging from the dirt, brilliant in their violet triumph, pushing themselves slowly gradually inevitably towards the light. Towards my eager little hands with dirt under my fingernails.
Gosh, what a thrill.
michelle yee photography 
