It's been a busy day for wildlife - and I write this in the morning. From my bed, I watched a beaver heading out into the bay. At breakfast, a great blue heron landed with a surprising screech in the back channel and stood stock still for so long that I forgot about him and wandered out to discuss dock plans with my builder who had arrived by boat. Sandhill cranes, with their distinctive creaking, flew overhead. And just now, sitting to write, a mink appeared amongst the cardinal flowers, scrabbling in the rocks for frogs or heron scraps.

It's Nature, writ large. Although we now have internet, it's still remote and quiet; any neighbour is a boat ride away.

After almost three weeks of company, I'll confess to feeling nervous about spending five days up here on my own. I even tried to borrow a dog. It's not the beaver or the mink or, heaven forbid, a bear that would make me peer anxiously into the shadows but rather my own imagination. I would swim before bed with anyone else up here and float on my back to admire the canopy of stars without any problem, although I wouldn't drift far. In my heart, I knew that the large snapping turtle who lives in the bay would shoot off the minute she heard a disturbance in the water, but did anything more sinister lurk below the surface?

Alone now, I don't swim at night, but it no longer fazes me to wander around after the sun has set. What changed? My attitude, I suppose, the personal growth that came from this untethered year, and my immersion into this landscape.

Last night, beyond the large window which reflected back the light from the candelabras on the table, I watched a small moon slide towards the horizon. By the time I'd blown out the candles and extinguished the propane light, the moon had set, and I headed to my cabin with a flashlight.

The darkness is like velvet, but not in a tropical sort of way with the croaking of tree frogs, the warm humidity wrapping itself around you like a soft blanket. Here, the thick blackness has an edge. Because it's really black. No moon at the moment. No ambient light. No glow over the horizon from a town. If it's calm, the stars will reflect on the water, otherwise the water, the islands, the trees and the sky blend into an impenetrable darkness. At times, the quiet makes my ears pulse, even though everyone drives their boat at night, returning home after dinner at a friend's or the younger set head out to gatherings. It's as if the darkness, after initially amplifying any sound, then swallows it all.

It's also later in August. The Americans have gone back to school, the days are shorter and the nights cool, so fewer people come up during the week. I wonder what it will be like when I return in September for a week. It's been years, decades probably, since I've been here so late in the season. The morning plunge will remain as it's such a magical way to start the day, but it will be much chillier. I will miss that when I head to Europe in mid-September but perhaps I can do some wild swimming in Portugal.

I've ended up thoroughly enjoying being on my own. I like the busy solitude, especially as the tasks here are elemental and satisfying: breaking up an old dock ramp with a hammer and drill, then using a circular saw to reduce the beautifully-dry planks to a size that will fit in the fireplace; sanding the large table and benches on our deck and then applying urethane - a process that gets repeated three times; looking at some of the warped screens and doors, wondering if I should take a woodworking course over the winter. There are also domestic tasks like sorting the muddled-up linens and sweeping the main cabin but they hold little interest for me. Since I was a child, I've preferred to do stuff outside, to get grubby and then fall in the water. It's odd to take my bathing suit off to swim but really, what's the point of getting it wet when there's no around? And if someone sees, do I really care?

I balance this solitude with the occasional social foray. I had some girlfriends over for cocktails (called docktails up here) on Sunday, which began shortly after 5 and ended at 11 pm. Dinner was the assortment of dips, cheeses, crackers, vegetables, smoked trout and olives that everyone had contributed, and the conversation spun around many diverse topics. I like small-scale socialising.

Tomorrow I head back to civilisation. I will bathe in hot water for the first time in more than three weeks. I will have to put away my moccasins and think about my clothes. I'll be able to turn on lights without a match. I love the contrast, and am happy to know that I'll be back here before the end of the month.

Classic Zen Buddhism says that "by carrying water and chopping wood, you will find the Tao" which is what I experience here in northern Ontario. This cottage of ours, located at the outer edge of the 30,000 islands of Georgian Bay which itself is an enormous body of water on Lake Huron, takes life back to basics.

In our secluded bay, on our little island, surrounded by water and rocks and wind-bent pines, life is shaped by weather. Today we have a honking southerly wind which cancelled our planned kayaking, last week it was horizontal rain and a tremendous thunderstorm. In between have been idyllic days of sunshine and calm. The propane fridge, stove, lights and hot water heater have kept things going here for years, along with a generator, but last year we put in solar. We feel as though we've gone forward a century, but is this a good thing?

We still eat by the light of a candle chandelier, though, and light the two silver candelabras when we want to play cards. On moonless nights it is truly dark, and when clear, the stars, the Milky Way, the occasional planets are magnificent. I feel nervous in a way that makes me feel alive. Perhaps it's clarity rather than apprehension.

View from the main cabin

This is a return to a place that I know well yet again I arrive with a new sense of self-awareness, a shifted mindset and a forward-looking curiosity. Just as in London, the change is marked. The what ifs and the if onlys no longer crop up to needle me with their distorted views of the past. 

I am, by nature, independent. I enjoy solitude, and solitary projects. Each morning, I climb out of bed and, still warm from being under the covers, throw myself into the lake. It's a fantastic awakening; hot water is so overrated. Then I often kayak out into the open and around the many islands of varying sizes. It's lovely in the quiet of early day. 

I bookend my day with another skinny dip, watching the stars above, floating in a calm way, hoping the beaver that lives in the boathouse doesn't inadvertently bump into me. In between these dips, I read books, write, prepare meals and even socialise occasionally. I'm just back from a kayaking lunch which would normally entail meeting up with a group of women and paddling out to picnic on one of the large, unpopulated rocks but today we stayed at a cottage because it was too windy to be in a kayak. 

The older I get, the more I appreciate the humour, experience and wisdom of the women I meet. If we could run the world for ten years. Just ten years. I'm sure we could straighten up some of the challenges facing us today. Then we'd open it up again. Promise!

Last weekend, seventeen members of my family gathered at Richard's cottage (the cottage where I went as a child) to celebrate my mum's 90th birthday, and I saw again how blood runs thicker than water. We all slotted in without a hiccup - siblings, children, cousins, wives, fiancées and lovers - and the teasing was epic. Hats off to my sister-in-law who manages to not only come up with bedding and beds for fifteen but also popped up an old bell-style tent which she decorated with pillows and blankets, books and lanterns for my eldest daughter (her goddaughter) and her beau. She's an Italian romantic at heart.

My mum is amazing but because she's my mother, I tend to take her for granted. So all her strengths and capabilities just wash over me. Before the birthday weekend, she told me she'd "knocked up" a sour cream coffee cake, some brownies and an assortment of blueberry tarts with crumble topping, after preparing some pickled mushrooms and a leek, mushroom and spinach strata for the brunch following the party. This was after we told her she didn't need to be involved in the menu.

The tapas-style meal included Lebanese fattoush to Moo Ping skewers, Thai corn fritters to Korean-style pork lettuce wraps as well as chicken wings, devilled eggs (because they're so good), a 5-foot long charcuterie board and my humble offering of a mango, cauliflower and chickpea salad.
Oh, and lots of wine.

But more than an appetite for good food, my mum is ferociously loyal to family, a keen follower of tennis and has an intelligence that requires regular feeding. She devours a variety of books, has a fabulous memory for all things past (more details about my cousin's visit in 2008 than my cousin can recall), and has a deep knowledge of, to name a few, the Group of Seven, Roman history, silver hallmarks, geographical details from the large number of places she has visited, and religious information left over from a life that began with schooling at a convent in England.

She's an inspiration, really, and I can only hope that I am as nimble both intellectually and physically when I reach my ninth decade. Have I mentioned that we're going to Australia for a month at Christmas? One of the Airbnb hosts, learning of my mum's age, was concerned about the steps to the front door. I was able to reply in all honestly that I'd just been swimming in a lake with her, but left out information about the lack of clothing. As per usual.

At the end of the dinner, we had a pub quiz. I was the quiz master, and thoroughly enjoyed baffling people. The birthday girl's team won, and in spite of the complaints of unfair questions such as what a dog can't smell (they can smell everything) or whether hot or cold water freezes faster (turns out that the hot water theory I'd learned was incorrect according to my nephew who works on the Canadian space arm - so he'd know), the Baby Blues won fair and square.

From tomorrow I'm on my own for a five days up here. I may go a bit feral so that's why I thought it best to get this post out today.