Luckily the sun was shining, the lake was sparkling, everyone was lovely and the alcohol was flowing. There was midnight skinny dipping, S’mores, commemorative t-shirts and food galore. The weekend took on that magical cottage schedule of eating, lounging, drinking, swimming, then eating again. I shared my towel with a great big goofy dog and we spooned on the dock. It left me covered with tufts of dog hair so that I resembled a cottaging Yeti but it was delightful.

It is quite a coup when I can step outside of my shrinking violet self and bask in the glow of sunshine and family. That is summer for you.

I hadn’t been camping in over ten years. After a couple of harrowing experiences involving grueling portages, canoeing through bogs and waiting for bears to eat me, I concluded that I wasn’t cut out for outdoorsy adventures. Time heals all wounds, however, and the past couple of years have worn down my anti-camping resolve.

The Sweetie and I decided to take baby steps and start with car camping. I had a cute camping outfit packed, jangly silver bangles, marshmallows and wine. I was ready for my new incarnation as a camping goddess.

My excitement turned to trepidation when I discovered a large tooth where we were about to pitch our tent. Suddenly things took on a Blair Witch overtone. Our lovely campsite immediately felt sinister.

“Is it human?”, I asked.

” I don’t know. That is totally bizarre.”

“Who would pull out a tooth on a camping trip?”

Who indeed. Perhaps it hadn’t been voluntary. I began to envision human sacrifices. Or zombies with rotting teeth roaming around the camping grounds, waiting for some fresh human flesh.

The way The Sweetie was examining the tooth and trying to sound nonchalant worried me.

“How would a tooth get here?” he mumbled to himself.

How and why? That is the question. Did it fall out of a skull? Was it brought here for some ritual, was it pulled out? Did it fall out while gnawing on something, like a human leg perhaps?

“Maybe it isn’t human. It’s pretty big.“

I could only wish that it was a bear. A bear was the least of my worries at this point.

“Forget it“, The Sweetie said, kicking the tooth aside and cracking open a beer. I could tell he was still disturbed.

I began combing the campsite, searching for more teeth or a jawbone. It wasn’t long before I discovered a tiny bone near the fire.

“What the hell is this?” I shrieked.

“That’s a chicken bone for God’s sake. Relax.”

Was it really? To me it looked like a tiny femur. Who eats chicken wings when camping? That would be so messy.  I began to imagine pocket-sized teeth-pulling, plier-wielding pygmies running about, circling the campfire at nightfall.

It started to rain around the time we were making dinner. Waiting out the torrential rains in the car, holding a camping fork with dripping sausages on my lap, I reminisced about our conversation as we were packing and I was carefully placing my berry crisp in the cooler. The Sweetie had suggested rain gear. “Rain gear?” I scoffed. “It’s only one night. We’re car camping, we’ll be fine!”

I began to wonder if the rain was a warning, telling us to leave the campsite while there was still a chance to high tail it back to civilization with all of our teeth intact. I sat under a damp towel stoically eating roasted marshmallows while The Sweetie valiantly kept the fire alive. We finally tucked ourselves into our tent and I dozed briefly, only to wake up from a nightmare about a serial killer in the woods. After that my chances at sleep were shot. I was on high alert, listening for snapping branches and other ominous night sounds. The incessant rain and thunder sounded like a combination of a drum kit and a million little tap dancers on the roof of our tent.The Sweetie had instructed me not to touch the edges of the tent to avoid having rain leak in. My hips dug into the ground and felt like they belonged to a ninety year old woman as I curled carefully into the fetal position. I was scared to move for fear of flooding, and afraid to shut my eyes. It was a long night.

As soon as it was light enough The Sweetie crawled out of the tent and announced, ”I am lighting a fire, making some coffee and then we are getting out of this god forsaken place.” Those may be the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.

Maybe I am fighting my true nature. I love the idea of being a wilderness girl, communing with nature, building fires and being at one with the great outdoors. I dream of having a posse of woodland creatures. I still have hope that one day I will own a backpack and a pair of hiking shoes. In reality though, I have a fondness for soft beds, ice cubes in my drinks, scented body lotions and dry clothing.  My personality is plagued with an over active imagination and a fear of spiders, bears, snakes and serial killers. I may be too prissy and neurotic for true wilderness adventures. I may be better suited for swank zombie-free resorts with well manicured hiking trails and a Sherpa to carry my urban snacks.

A rooster alarm clock. Could anything be more delightful? Who wouldn’t rise and shine with a smile on their face with this beauty crowing at them? And it does crow, the full cock-a-doodle-doo crowing. I love it. Two dollars has bought me brighter mornings. Joy comes cheap in the summertime.

Despite my love of summer I’m not a fan of summer solstice as it marks the beginning of the days getting shorter.  I prefer being on the upswing, knowing that every day is getting longer.

For today, however, despite the tiniest whisper of dread, I will wear my summer dress and embrace the glorious sun.

I beat the garbage truck today. It is often a race against time to set out the bin before they reach our curb. Somehow The Sweetie and I always forget to take it out the night before, only to wake up to the sound of the truck as it lumbers past our empty curb, our trash left to fester for another two weeks. I am often running out in my pajamas crying “wait! wait!”, only to have the truck whiz past me, the garbage guys sneering and victorious. Not today garbage guys! Not today. With The Sweetie cheering me on in his boxer shorts and the truck rumbling one house away, I dashed out with my hair still dripping from the shower in half pulled on track pants. I did a victory leap on the driveway seconds before the disgruntled garbage guys pulled up. A small triumph to start the morning off right.

Then I saw this on the Bust website. I would like to start all of my mornings feeling like this.

It is going to be a good day.

My sister was aghast when I spoke to her on the phone, “Isn’t it 100 degrees in Toronto today? Who the hell eats stew in the summer?”

The truth is, I’m doing penance for sins committed at my birthday dinner.

Years ago I gave up eating meat. It just felt right to me. I call it my no cute law, and declared that I would no longer eat anything cute. I can’t take a high and mighty stance because I still wear leather shoes, eat honey and don’t believe the bees are being exploited, and I do enjoy seafood from time to time. Lately, however, fish have been looking cute to me. I was contemplating saying good bye.

Then The Sweetie and I went out for a posh dinner for my birthday. There were no vegetarian options so I ordered the sole. As the waiter presented my plate he began to explain how the fish was particularly special since it was frozen alive. The Sweetie quickly cut him off, “That isn’t a selling point for her, you’d better stop right there.”

All I could think of was the happily swimming fish, yanked from his watery home and frozen alive. I had visions of the scene from The Empire Strikes Back, when Han Solo is frozen in carbonite to be delivered to Jabba the Hut. I was Jabba, with that flicking lascivious tongue and lumpy body, waiting for my bounty to be delivered.

I was disturbed. You would think that such visions would be enough to diminish my appetite but I think the live freezing made my fish extra succulent. It was delicious.

Post birthday, I am back on the vegetarian train. I will cook my barley and potatoes over a hot stove during a heat wave and do my penance.

And I still hate doing my taxes.