Going swimming in your snowmobile suit

And I’m not talking ice-fishing here; I’m talking let’s hitch up the boat and get out on Georgian Bay! I’m sitting in my car by the boat launch in Wiarton, just a couple blocks from the hospital that provided me such a hospitable (!) stay a month ago. It’s a bright sun-drenched morning with a brisk breeze blowing straight up Colpoy’s Bay out of the North-East. It’s gotta be friggin’ cold out there! According to Environment Canada the air temp last night was 4 C, and the water temp was 3. That’s a scant two degrees above ice forming on the surface. There’s a medium chop and the waves are at a half-metre. Nobody in their right mind goes out on a day like this. Of course, anyone who knows “serious” fishermen, or “fishers” if we must, will know that serious fishermen are by definition not in their right minds, and as if to prove my point, at that very moment a small aluminum boat comes bobbing around the end of the breakwater, heading for the boat launch. I can’t be sure, but it looks like Billy-Bob from Desboro, his brother Darrell, and his other brother Darrell, and get this; the three of them are bundled up in snowmobile suits! At least they’re getting more than three weeks use out of their winter gear! I wouldn’t want to vouch for the buoyancy of a water-logged snowmobile suit in a worst-case scenario, but hey, maybe these lads are really strong swimmers. Just as a point of interest, I’m a mere two kilometres from the Wiarton International Airport. This must be one of Canada’s smallest international airports, but I did some digging, and they are an official entry point to Canada. As far as I know, never in its history has Wiarton ever hosted any regular scheduled foreign flights. The Canadian Border Services personnel posted here must have one of the sweetest gigs in all the land. Bet they have lots of free time for fishing! I like to come here to contemplate the sorry state of our world. It’s impossible to follow current events without getting mired in grim foreboding. Maybe that new Pope can bring some hope? He’s from Chicago, after all! Just like Barry O, another purveyor of empty hopes. Then again, Rahm Emanuel, Richard Daley, and Al Capone were from Chicago too… The Trump Circus, meanwhile, has become a full-blown three-ring international extravaganza. Mafia Don has thus far failed to end the war in Ukraine or the genocide in Gaza, but did manage to stop a Pakistan-India war nobody even saw coming. I’m guessing that’s relatively easy because Pakistan is effectively a US dependency, whereas both Israel and Ukraine have proven far less dependent than many assumed. If there is any hope at all for the Palestinians in Gaza it lies in the fraying of the Israel-USA relationship. Polling shows a majority of the American public across both parties now disapprove of Israel’s policies of ethnic cleansing and mass murder. Prominent Republicans as well as some Dems are balking at criminalizing criticism of Israel. If polling trends continue, there’ll be a stampede of congress-critters abandoning the Chosen People as midterms get closer. The arc of history may not be bending towards justice quite yet, but I detect a shift in the wind. Meanwhile back in my world, I’m focused on recovering some of the strength I’ve lost to CHF. I’ve got a two km track laid out- the first km on the flat, the second up the Burgess Sideroad hill. First timed it at 45 minutes a couple days after I was discharged. As a reference point, that used to be my time for a a 5 km walk. Anyway, I’m doing it in 20-25 minutes now, so obviously some recovery is possible. When there’s not a whole lotta hope, hold tight to what you can find.

Here's an example of good parenting

When the weather hots up like this, me and the Farm Manager like to head to the shore of Colpoy's Bay. A mere fifteen minute drive from Falling Downs and we're sitting on a bench behind the Wiarton Water Treatment Plant, coolers in hand, enjoying the bay breezes and watching the boats go by.

We're sitting there the other day, and a guy and his toddler son paddle by in a kayak. The kid can't be more than three years old. He's on his dad's lap, he's paddling, but Dad's hands are on the paddle too. There's not a screen in sight. Right away you know there's something good going on.

There's not much that's sadder than watching a parent drag a kid down the street with one hand while they've got the phone in the other, but you see it every day.

As they're passing by our bench, I couldn't help but blurt out, just loud enough that they could hear it; "there's a shark following you!"

Both their heads snapped around. Then I saw Dad whisper something into his kid's ear, and a second later the kid shouts up, in his three-year-old sing-songy voice, "It's just a pretend shark."

Not only was Dad spending quality time with his little boy, he just calmed the kid's fears.

That's some quality parenting.

Phun with Phil

Here's a tip for dog lovers. Having a dog is great. Especially a dog like this.




Phil is just a joy. She loves the heated front seats in the Subaru. Of course she's not allowed anywhere near the front seats when the Farm Manager is riding with us, but when it's just me and the hounds, well, what the hell...

Why would you want to let a heated seat go to waste?

Having two dogs may or may not be even better. Around here we're fond of the two-dog model because when we have to step out, they've got one another for company. These were our two dogs BP, or "before Phil."



Here they are on the shore of Colpoys Bay awaiting the next stick toss.

But don't ever get sucked into having three dogs. Nosiree, three dogs is a dog pack. A dog pack is more than the sum of its parts. A pack develops a pack mind that can have a completely different personality than any of the dogs may have individually. That's why you read those sad stories about the little old lady who was ripped to shreds by her pack of schnauzers.

Individually, each of those dogs loved her.

As a pack, they woke up one day and their pack mentality told them she was the prey.

That's something we hope to avoid here at Falling Downs.