That’s was I was doing with Mr. G, honey today.
Makes me think of that old Ricky Nelson song, only not.
We drove north and east into low cottage country. I say low cottage country, because cottage country extends way on up there. Way up north. This is the low c-country. I don’t think anybody says that except me.
We spent the day at Chemong Lake or Lake Chemong (shi-MONG) in the Peterborough area (Ontarioland, Canadaland). It means Mud Lake.
The lake is 14 km long (8.7 miles) and 1 km wide (.62 miles). It is part of the tri-lake water system, which includes lakes Buckhorn and Pigeon. This water system is part of the Kawartha Lakes system which, in turn, is part of the Trent-Severn Waterway. I tell you this in case you are into little factoids. You could be.
Anyway, that’s a lot of parts.
This was our little part.
The day was graysome. It looks like we’re getting ready to roast marshmallows. We’re not. We are inside drinking red wine and eating Italian. Somebody had to do it. We all volunteered.
This was a tiny island I could have swam to, if I wanted to. I didn’t. It was shivery cold. I wasn’t dressed for it. And my hair was under control. Almost. And the person who lives there didn’t invite me. That’s critical.
I’m looking straight across from my Italian food. It looks more than .62 miles away. First Nations peoples reside on that side of the lake. In the winter, they use the lake as a short cut to Peterborough. I would to.
It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Mr. Rogers.
Great view. Great friends. Great Italian food. Great way to spend a November day.
That being said, several hours of writing await me.
Not so great. Mebbe.