We left the apartment this morning around 10:30 am. We had voluntarily ejected ourselves from the premises in anticipation of the arrival of our housekeeper to perform her scheduled endeavour. The ambient temperature was already close to 30°C. All day the uncommonly high temperature lingered. What however made it magical and bearable was the SSW gusts at 42 Km/hr. On the surface at least the air was dry though the mid-afternoon forecast warned of “A Severe Thunderstorm Watch” affecting Eastern Lanark County. As well you might imagine the weather was shifting to more seasonable expectations; and the temperature was thereafter forecast to drop to a high of 25°C tomorrow though happily beneath perfectly clear skies. All in all it has made for an exceptional day and an equally effervescent drive in the country up, down and around the well-maintained roads.
We drove out of Almonte on the Wolf Grove Road along Co. Rd.#16 towards Middleville, turning at Union Hall onto Co. Rd.#9 to the Village of Clayton, skirting Clayton Lake past Halls Mills and Tatlock then up Hwy#511 further hinterland towards Calabogie to the Calabogie Highlands Golf Resort overlooking Calabogie Lake opposite Calabogie Peaks Resort on the west end of the lake. The golf club approaches Algonquin Provincial Park.
The drive was exceptionally pleasant, yet another reminder of the felicity of rural living. To my embarrassment the golf club is new to me. On the one hand, considering the club and its surrounding residential developments are so superb, I shamefully acknowledge my ignorance; on the other hand, I placate my lack of knowledge as proof that I once had a job. Meanwhile I have as usual His Lordship to thank for his novel elaboration of the detail.
It will not surprise you to learn that upon our return home (and after having collected routine prescription pills at the pharmacy) I was anxious to recover my position behind the wheel of the car so that I could further enjoy the sumptuous day. Once again the drive along the Appleton Side Road, amidst the bountiful foliage which now crowds the view and the avenue, was nonpareil. In addition to the summery weather, the balmy air and the bucolic tapestry, I was relishing driving my car. With all the windows and the landau roof open. Driving a car has become central to me. It is a mainstay of my worldly universe. Not only, for example, have I now confessed that tricycling about the garage is sufficient expiation of my athletic guilt; I have likewise affirmed that at my advanced age driving an automobile is no small pleasure to be either ignored or repudiated. As my late father and his did before me, so do I in tandem. It has become a matter of, “What’s bred in the bone will out in the flesh!” Nor in saying so have I any remorse or regret whatsoever. The mechanical wits behind the North American passenger automobile – going back to Henry Ford and William Durant – deserve mountains of praise. I suppose at one time riding one’s horse was the unsurpassable pleasure of the day; but even that sounds to me to be far too much effort for relaxed navigation in the sunshine.
Later in the afternoon, to punctuate the magnificent weather, we encountered the outside window cleaner at work upon our multitude of floor-to-ceiling windows in this corner apartment, further clarifying the inordinate splendour of the day.