Cottage.

Yesterday, we drove north to Sauble Beach to stay at my parents' cottage for the night. The drive takes about three hours, and is peppered with funny, cute signs and landmarks (Moccasins! Giant Muskoka chair! The Sweet Potato chip wagon!) as you make your way through acres of farmland and towns that grow smaller as you go. When you pass the last Tim Hortons in Hepworth, you know you are nearly there.

We settled in and did some shopping. The renters before us hadn't left a single stitch, as they often do. Not even ice cream or popsicles, purchased but unable to survive the drive home. Downtown, we ordered Pizza Delight (an East Coast chain that is hard to find in Southern Ontario) and bought a few other things to last us one day, but didn't wander. It's like any beach. Stores change, but it's always the same.

Back at the cottage we stuffed ourselves into our swimsuits - mine new, and oh so cute - and began our basking. The sun was hot and, between the cottage and copse of trees, we were protected from the wind coming off the water. We snoozed, we admired the beauty around us, we sweated. I finally had put it off long enough and I was going swimming, dammit, I just couldn't wait anymore.

My method for the always chilly Lake Huron swimming is to walk in purposefully, not necessarily rushing, but always moving forward. Otherwise the cold will get ya. In my strategy, the waves will lap higher than you intend and before you know it, you are submerged. Once you're in, it's glorious. We swam for about two hours. We launched ourselves into huge waves. We stood at the sandbar and tried to withstand them pummelling us. We swam so deep we couldn't touch our toes, then the undertow freaked us out so we came in. We watched a guy surf with a parachute. We swam and swam and swam.

To warm up, we started gathering materials for a fire. It doubled as our kitchen for dinner. We threw some potatoes in the embers and rigged up some skewers to lay kebabs over. Our first try was a bit burny, but we got it on the second go.

After dinner, we threw some mystical powder on the fire to make it turn purple and blue and green. A bunny joined us for a while but it was so dark and she was so good at camouflaging that I couldn't capture a picture of her. You'll just have to trust me.

We watched the sun go down on our bench on the beach.

We drank. A lot.

At one point, I tilted my head back to rest it against my chair and gasped. I had forgotten about stars. There we so many stars. Beautiful, twinkling stars.

At another point, I somehow slipped into talking about work and was turned to slowly and asked, "But isn't the sound of the waves just the best?" And it's true, it was. Work has no place at the cottage.

It got cool overnight, so we slept soundly, swaddled in comforters and soothed by the lake sending its hushes through the windows.

Sunday was a lazy day, as it should be. Coffee was topped with Bailey's, enjoyed with bacon and hashbrowns, crispy both. We snuggled into some hoodies to adventure down the very windy beach, walking all the way to a point in south Sauble where the beach turns to rocks. It was lovely.

We finished our day at the cottage and began our drive home, stopping first for some amazing ice cream cones. We made the scooper's day by taking our selections so seriously and then asking for interesting modifications and combinations.

On the road, through town after town, we were scoping out antique shops. They were all either closed for the day or, in the cases of ones we knew about, closed permanently. We made it home in good time, but what felt like too soon.

This time at the cottage, though short, was the perfect salve to my soul.