Oliver and I are on our last night of a week’s vacation on the eastern shore of Cape Breton Island; against traditon, I’ve maintained radio silence throughout, so as to perfect the art of doing absolutely nothing, which is a practice I do not come by honestly.

We have largely succeeded at carrying out a week of nothing but sleeping, eating, reading, sketching, watching TV, and going for walks on the beach, punctuated by a trip into Port Hawkesbury for supplies, and a run up to Judique for lunch.

Otherwise, save a lovely afternoon hosting my old friend George on Friday afternoon, we’ve been in pleasant isolation, enjoying good weather, fresh blackberries every morning, and the occasional game of Crazy 8s. 

The closest vacation I’ve ever had to this one was the week that Catherine and I spent on the shore of Lake Superior in 1992 at a remote cabin; there was more nudity on that trip, but otherwise it was similarly “let’s try to do nothing for a week.” There’s a lot to recommend it, especially when the hearty mélange that is daily life includes an awful lot of not doing nothing for both me and for Oliver.

As I write our car is up the road charging at the garage of the owner of the house where we’re staying, we’re just back from our last walk on the rocky shore, and I’m plotting how to turn the remaining food in the fridge into a last supper (what can you make from carrots, naan, heavy cream, blueberries, honey and barbecue sauce?). Tomorrow we’ll make our way to Antigonish for lunch and an EV top-up, and we’ll then catch the 4:00 p.m. ferry to Wood Islands and home.

Oliver starts a new course at the University of PEI on Tuesday–Susan Brown’s Cool Britannia–and I have my first committee meeting of the fall season on Wednesday. It’s been good to have a break.