Sunday, July 28, 2002
Later that morning we all head over to a small public space where two small strips of sand flank a channel of water. The water is refreshing cool, and small fish zing about in the shallow water. Stay still long enough and they gently nibble your feet. After being dropped off by Josef, Erika swims to the other bank, towing Vanessa on her back. Turns out The other side has more conveniently located shade. I could swim over with Annie, but not without getting all of our other gear (towels and food) seriously soaked. Another boat comes by, and after hailing them, they kindly pick us up and drop us off on the other bank.
The water is a little bit too cool for Annie. She shivers and begins to complain, in part from the cold but also because she is rubbing her eyes out of tiredness. Josef arrives soon after, and Vanessa and I opt to stay while Erika takes Annie back.
It somehow figures that Vanessa tires of the water within about 5 minutes of Josef leaving. Then another could of boats arrive on the other bank. A couple of families pour out, and soon loud AC/DC is blaring from one of the boat's sound systems. The family that ferried us to this side soon pick up and leave, so Vanessa and I end up exploring our side of the bank. Vanessa hunts for "pretty rocks", and I point out various fauna: small frogs, minnow-like fish and the single largest, stockiest jumping spider I've ever seen (who must have been over an inch long, and who seriously freaked out Vanessa when she realized, Miss Muffet-style, that she was sitting beside it).
Soon the sky began to darken, and thankfully, just as the first scattered rain drops were falling, we were rescued from the impending storm by Josef.
Didn't sleep too well. Neither did Erika. Too much going on I guess. That and trying to get used to a new bed. What sleep I did get was light.
Once I woke up to the sound of a gentle rain. Later, I heard loons call. But the otherwise utter quiet was unnerving for an urbanite like myself. The waters are so gentle that I couldn't even discern any lapping of the waves against the rock of the island. It’s that quiet.
Time to really take things in. On the door of our room is this: "Ronald York 5'3/4'' Age 13, 8-30-67". Scrawled echos of an earlier time.
An odd assortment of books lines the small bookshelf. A lone hardcover copy of Thomas Mann's "The Magic Mountain" solidly stands at one end, a weathered book of Ogden Nash's ("Good Intentions") at the other. In between a miscellany of other titles, that probably came from the previous owners. A stack of records are laid out flat on the base of the table containing the bookshelves. The latest of them seems to come from the 70s, and includes popular show tunes, the occasional classical record and MOR 60s style.
The washroom and shower area are completely open -- there are no shades on those big windows. Since the nearest neighbours are about a click away on an adjacent island, this isn't such a big deal (though I wonder if inquisitive boaters sneak a peak whenever they spy somebody in there. ;-) The shower is interesting, and I find it hard to believe that it is original to the building: no stall, no bathtub, just the bare wooden plywood walls which will likely disintegrate over time. A Japanese-style deep wooden bathtub is set into the floor, but we were told not to bother using it since it leaks faster than you can fill it.
The interior wood of the building has a deep, honeyed glow to it. Old wood weathered by the extremes of heat and cold over the season, but not exposed to the elements. Only to the exhalations of the people sheltering under it. Somehow very homey.
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