poutine for president


While we waited for Stormie to ship across the ocean we spent time at our family cottage in the Laurentians of Quebec. It is where I spent the first 12 years of my life: where I developed my unwavering love of poutine, where I learned to go outside and get lost when I was bored, and it is where (despite growing up on a lake) I did not learn to fish, canoe, or ice skate within the acceptable parameters of Canadian youth.


We did nothing in the two weeks we spent on the lake. Nothing. It was amazing.

It was a time of professional bbq-ing, hanging out with family, and revisiting the innocence, comfort, and happiness of a youth free from obligation and responsibility.


IMG_7464Slamming screen doors, favourite dogs buried in the yard, dirt roads, screen porches, best friends, first loves and black flies. I grew up here-barefoot, sunburned and happy-in a place that could have been the inspiration for every good country song ever written. Relaxed, refreshed and 1000% ready for some cleansing after three weeks of drinking and eating to our heart’s content, we picked up Stormie in Halifax and hit the road again.


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