We had a wonderful weekend at the cottage running in and out of the lake and eating delicious foods grilled by Pete or purchased at our beloved Dooher's Bakery. I even made progress on a new sock:
I think this colourway is called Monet's Garden but I have no way of knowing. Except for, you know, getting up from my chair and looking into that blue rose bag for the ball band. But if I did that I wouldn't be typing! You can see my predicament. Whatever its name is, I can tell you for certain it is the last yarn I had transformed into twin cakes for perfectly matched socks before Friday's ball-winding extravaganza. And also, that I still have to cast on the other sock.
A thunderstorm rolled in on Sunday afternoon while I was blissfully bobbing around in the lake and I did not want to get out, but I also didn't want to find out how conductive water really is, on the off chance there was a side of lightning to go with the rumbling.
After the rain came and went, the clouds over the lake were gorgeous - I just had to throw on wool socks and boots and run down to the dock to take these pictures.
The footwear wasn't to keep warm with, obviously. It was to thwart the blackflies that linger at the top of our dock, where I had to stand to get this shot:
This year, the blackflies are as big as my thumb. Are they always that big and there just weren't enough of them for me to notice before? I don't know. I am just grateful they are slow and I am fast and my feet were well protected, since they are the hardest part of my body to protect in a hurry. As the bugs circled me, I ran back up into the cottage and kicked off my hot wool socks and boots.
Then the sun came out and I could see the clouds were even more spectacular, so I hurried back into the socks and boots and ran down the deck stairs to take more pictures.
The water had grown eerily still in spite of the wind that had ushered in the rain - it must have just stopped, suddenly, and because all the boaters had gone back to shore for the storm, the surface had turned into a mirror.
I love the lake when it's like this.
But I also really, really love the clouds that glide over the lake most days. The sky is just so big there, and the clouds have so much texture. I realized suddenly that there is no flight path through this area - no trails tracing a plane's progress through the air. Just beautiful clouds moving fast overhead.
Some of those clouds are as white as can be, and some are blue-dark, and some are nearer than others so that you can see all their layers.
The very best, of course, is getting right out into the water and watching them pass over like a moving picture, but that is harder to capture on a camera. Almost as hard as capturing the whole scale of the thing.
But I tried anyway. My goodness, the clouds are awe-inspiring at the cottage, and I could watch them all day... but if I did, how would I be able to knit enough to keep myself in socks?