Back from our family camping weekend. Our annual Labour Day weekend excursion all the way over to the next lake. Actually it was a good thing it's not far since yours truly had to paddle back home all by herself to get the tent poles that someone forgot to pack.
I'm also still in shock that Denis didn't bring his usual four-pound first-aid kit. It's always with us, except for this time when Denis slices his finger to the bone on a dried fern. Sounds sort of benign, but it was a bloody gushing event with no band-aids. Denis spent the weekend with his hankie tied around his finger. He also broke his rod, and watched his prized new lure sail off on it's own after an enthusiastic cast. He also woke up in the tent covered in no-see-um bites - with the rest of us completely bite free. Sort of reminded me of the Polysporin commercial when Dad gets his a** kicked while camping.
It was Remmington's debut camping trip (the girl's little dog) and it took him a while to sort out what the frig was going on. While we paddled through the narrows, he decided to make a flying mad leap out of the canoe. He landed in the mud and quickly realized we weren't following. His eyeballs bugged out at me while he swam towards us, "pick me up, pick me up, pick me up!"
The weather was the nicest of the whole summer and we had a great time catching bass, roasting marshmallows (while trying to remember all those campfire songs when the girls were younger), and playing canasta in the tent. As Rebecca would say - good times, good times.