When I was a child, I would inform my mother that when I was grown-up, I would winterise the cottage and live here. I had great plans for bringing the little five-room camp into the 20th century. By the time I was in my teens, I had grown quite accustomed to the propane lights and a refrigerator that needed its pilot light lit. Unfortunately, the appliances were getting old, breaking down and it was becoming increasingly difficult to get them repaired. And Superior Propane, long the supplier of the gas we used to run those appliances was no longer close by, but a substantial drive down the highway and not remotely convenient. As my mother priced out replacing the dying propane appliances and compared the costs to electrifying the camp, it became clear we were going to have to modernise. 14-year old me was utterly horrified. As far as I was concerned, there had been plenty of change in my short life and the cottage was a constant. It did not change.The first summer we had electricity, the camp was struck by lightning and I was electrocuted. See? That would never have happened if we'd stayed on propane. That is a story for another time, however.
As I write this, Glenn is showering outside and the electric pump (which replaced the propane pump that required pulling a beligerant rip-cord to start) clicks on and off, I am admittedly grateful for electricity. For instance, we now can shower with, more importantly, hot water. Amazingly, it took us a full ten years after electrifying of lake and sink bathing to realise we could rig up a shower outside (we do not have a bathroom). So it's probably fair to say that change happens in fits and starts. We also have a splendid toaster oven and a counter-top roaster which we enjoy using for big roasts. I take issue with the microwave that my mother installed, and stalwartly refuse to make use of it for anything but a breadbox. And yet, thanks to Glenn's fancy "spacephone" and the free data usage he gets for working for a cellular company, we have Internet. I find this far less troubling than a microwave. I'm not even troubled by a window-mounted air conditioner, but the microwave makes me furious. And God help us if a TV ever turns up.
Still, when I am here, I feel like I am in a land that time forgot, regardless of whether I write by hand on paper with a pen, or type into my blog on my laptop. Yes, Highway 50 is finally open and, yes, I can hear it, but it's not any less intrusive than the aeroplanes and helicopters that fly low overhead, or the sound of the river rafters' bus and truck passing on the road in the summer. I thought I might be horrified by the 50, but, unlike the microwave, I've adapted to it readily. Go figure.
We leave here tomorrow. Tonight I will put the non-essential pillows away in plastic bags (to keep the mice out) and strip the bedding off the guest bed and the slip covers off the couches. Tomorrow morning, we will roll down the window blinds and shut off the power, put the cats in their carriers and hit the road back to London. Sometimes people ask me if it's worth it to drive seven hours for a week's worth of vacation and I never hesitate. It's worth it. Every bit of being here in this land where time moves in fits and starts is worth it.
Except the microwave.
