A quiet night on the lake

Man, I sure do love where I live. Take tonight, for instance. I decide to go for a walk on the lake to pick up some fresh white fish from a local fisherman. The lake is still solid and I start to walk with the little white dog. About five minutes into the walk, I hear someone calling and three dogs running towards us. Alison and Summer were by the remants of the snow castle, skating on the last patches of sleek ice and letting their dogs run. We chatted, the dogs romped, and then I carried on.

Shawn, the fisherman, was home and sold me fresh, beautiful white fish filets. He was hosting a dinner in a little houseboat for some youth he took out on the land earlier that day so I didn’t stick around.

On the walk home, I bumped into Wade who was biking home on the lake. We had a brief, funny conversation about meeting up with old friends, the pressure to have children and stolen bicycles.

I got home and cooked it up on my little stove with olive oil, a wee bit of balsamic vinegar and a dash of maple syrup. Heavenly. Just as I finished eating, I heard the loud rumblings of a bomboardier outside my door. I looked out and it was Shawn and Mike getting ready to hook up my neighbour’s little shack and haul it down the lake to a nearby island.

Now, I’m sitting back with a glass of red wine. It’s ten o’clock and it’s not dark yet. The lake is still solid except for where the current rips through next to JY’s place (yesterday Vince hauled a canoe out there and tried fishing). Life is good.

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