I had a crap day today. Like, reeeeeeeeealllly crap. I complained on Facebook about it, vaguely, of course. Rachel Clear talked me down off the ledge, so that was nice. (thanks, lady). But it was a helluvaday. Mostly, inside my head. The crease between September and October is often rough on my brain; lower Vitamin D levels? Less light? I dunno. But anyways, rather than get on here and spew about it, which is my wont, I would rather finish highlighting my summer, because that would make me happy. Thank you for watching =)
When I left off posting about our summer, we were in the midst of camping at Otter Lake. So here's our final day~we saw a float plane take off in the morning
And we said, "Why don't we have a float plane? That would make the commute up here so much faster! And think of the fun of landing a plane on the water!!!" Along the lines of, "Why don't we own oceanfront property?" and "Why aren't we professional philanthropists?" Seriously.
Brent had to take a photo of this outfit I had Amarys in one day before bed: jammies, hoodie, baby legs, and socks. All prints. All clashing. But she was warm! =)
This was actually the night I convinced Brent to try the style of camping I grew up with, which means you sleep in a tent, but you don't put the fly on. When you camp in the interior of BC, you don't need a fly. It's a pain in the ARSE to put on, it holds condensation in the tent (especially with six people breathing in it all night), and makes the air stuffy.
Brent grew up on the coast, which means when you camp you bring 4234365745768487 tarps, in case it rains. And you put four or five tarps UNDER the weatherproof bottom of the tent, and you put the fly on the tent as though it were as necessary as breathing (would YOU leave home without your lungs? So for the fly), and when it DOES rain you put 84 of the other tarps on top of the fly.
We have this argument every time we camp.
Me: Do we HAVE to put the fly on the tent? It's so stuffy!
end of discussion. Or sometimes there's a monologue about When Things Get Wet, or If It Rains. I listen like the longsuffering wife I am, and never, ever say a word in opposition. (I promise). Anyways, I don't really argue anymore but I do keep mentioning it. Because in my childhood, full of camping and camping and MORE CAMPING with my hippie parents and especially my woodsman dad, I can only remember once when they put the fly on. The rain clouds were coming and they were frantically rushing to get the fly on the tent. The other fifty four million times we camped, it didn't rain.
See, when it rains in Princeton, which is where Otter Lake is, it hardly even counts. Their annual rainfall is 239 mm per year. That's 23 centimeters. In the ENTIRE YEAR. So when it rains? It mists a little for an hour and blows away. The ground hardly changes colour! Even the thunderstorm we experienced on our second day there was gone in an hour and the ground was dry an hour after that.
Annual rainfall was what finally won me this argument. And that night, we slept without the fly on the tent. And it was MOTHERFUCKING COLD!
I won the battle, Brent won the war.
Anyhoo, this was Amarys' flyless tent pyjamas. Very chic.
The next day we drove home. First we drove further away from home, traveling East to Keremeos. This is a South Okanagan town one hour beyond Princeton, which has a miraculous amount of arid fruits. Peaches that are known around the world. Apricots by the forklift. Tomatoes, squash, cukes, pears, apples, cherries, plums, and, and, and!!! We bought several boxes of tomatoes, peaches, and apricots so I could make jam, canned peaches, and canned tomatoes. Zooee mama! [forgive me for the tween boy literary reference: given my family demographics I'm sure you can understand]
|Yummy! Ayden and Riley helped me choose the best field tomatoes|
|Then we got ice cream....|
|And with much shuffling of items and squashing of children, we|
got all the fruit in the van
Then we turned around and headed back. I'm so grateful we went the extra two hours because the fruit is incredible quality and not something it is possible to get down here, even from the farmer's market. Peaches picked ripe, that day, and driven home in your own vehicle and canned and jammed the NEXT day? Heaven.
Here's our annual pit stop at Strawberry Meadows in Manning Park (I generally vote for the Alpine Meadows but am getting shouted down with alarming frequency these days. I was promised next year).
And then we were HOME!
The next day was our 10th Wedding Anniversary (yes, that deserves capitalization). I think that, amongst ALL the couples in the world, we are the most well suited to each other. Maybe that is an exaggeration =) Slight, I'm sure. Not biased at all. Anyways, I'm so grateful God dropped this man in my path when he did, and virtually shoved me towards him. Brent said to me, the other day (and in earnest), "I'm so lucky I scored the cute ballerina!" As a middle aged woman with 30 extra pounds to lose and banana boobs from nursing babies, that was pretty nice to hear. The moral of this story is, we both feel equally lucky. Shazam! We celebrated at Uli's restaurant in White Rock (AMAAAAAAZINGGGGG food), a walk along the pier, and then we tried to see a movie but there wasn't anything playing that we were remotely interested in seeing. So we went home and rented one instead. Then we slept ALL NIGHT because the kids were sleeping at gramma and grampa's house, and then we SLEPT IN. It was so peaceful. Ahhhhh.....
|Here's me being bossy.|
This is a classic Nancy Smith pose
(that's my mother)
|White Rock beach|
Next up: Oregon!