Forty Pounder Holiday

Summer in the Okanagan. Dinner at the Gasthaus with brother Don and lovely Lelani in Peachland, on the patio, lakeside. Sauerkraut spaetzle never gets old.

Morning coffee with Dad. Early run to the lake. Drive to Oliver. Picking organic tomatoes at Covert Farms. Only twenty pounds Mom says. We come home with forty. Peaches from a fruit stand. Glohaven. All freestone, the farmer says.

Ice cream cones from Tickleberry’s in OK falls (way more than 40 flavours, stacked 40 inches high). Happy hour and cards on the deck with Mom and Dad. Apricots at our feet, rescued by my Dad from a nearby neglected tree, ripening fast.

Morning roller blade, a shaky, dangerous spectacle. Canning peaches with Mom and the lovely Lisa. Not so freestone. Floating down the river channel, kids bouncing off my belly.

Steaming hot, feels like forty degrees outside. Thank god for air conditioning. Making apricot jam. Farmers market. I fill my shopping bags to take back home. Peppers, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, garlic, onions. Forty pounds of produce.

On my brother Todd’s boat. Long cool swim. Splashing with my nephews. Forty pounds of sand in my suit. Listening to Gord McLaren and his band lakeside, on the outdoor patio. An eagle family in its nest, perched on a post in the water, watches us watching them. Davis Love III sitting behind us, watching us, watching him. Scouting for a new golf course. Just what we need, more short grass and pesticides on the back forty.

Should I move here? Every summer, the same question.

Eating yellow watermelon on another blue sky day. Sleek Iron Men and women whizzing by on sleek bikes, checking out the route. Big day tomorrow. Final sleep. Wishing for a longer holiday.

Wading back in to real life slowly. Making ratatouille. Forty pounds of it.


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