Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Summer Trips - Canoe Trip & The Summer Cottage

Episode Date: June 20, 2025

“There is nothing like a 20th wedding anniversary to drive home the point that you are no longer 20 years old” For our final episode of this season, two entertaining stories about summer vacations. And Jess talks about the additional perspective going further afield can bring. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

You know, here at Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe, we believe in the power of stories to transport you. But let's face it, nothing beats actually getting away and creating your own story. Whether you're dreaming of a sun-soaked beach, a cruise through the Mediterranean, or exploring a quiet corner of Canada, Sell Off Vacations has your back. They've been helping Canadians travel happy for over 30 years with unbeatable deals and a team of experts who've actually been to the places you want to go. It's not just about booking a trip, it's about finding your perfect escape with help from people who get it.

Happy travels start with the experts at Sell Off Vacations. Visit selloffvacations.com and start planning your next adventure. From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. When I sat down to write today's show, I wasn't in my office. I wasn't at home. I wasn't even in my town of Chelsea. I was away, not far away, but still I was out of my house, away from my family, away from my life. I hardly ever write at home, at least not at my desk. It's weird, I know. I have a beautiful office

and a beautiful home in a town I love. And when we renovated our house, I designed my office. I even treated myself to a cheerful, bright yellow couch. My writing couch. It wasn't always going to be like that. I had planned on having a huge desk in the middle of the room. But that changed the day I proudly showed the office design to my husband, Josh. I showed him a drawing of the office, bookshelves with all my books, magnetic strips on the wall so I could hang the kid's art, and in the middle of the room,

a giant desk. The power position, he called it. He looked at the design that I was so proud of and he said, Where are you going to write? What do you mean? I said, I mean, I thought it was obvious. Didn't he see the giant desk in the middle of the room? I wasn't tucking it into a corner apologetically.

It took up the whole office. It took up space, just the way I hoped I could one day. It was aspirational. Josh said, but you always write lying down. What? I said. I wanted to argue, but instead I paused. And like a flashback in a 90s sitcom, it all came back to me. It, being the truth, displayed like photographs or a slideshow, one after another. Me, lying on the couch in the living room, writing. Me, lying outside on a picnic blanket, writing. Me, lying on a deck chair in the sun, writing. Me, supine on a picnic blanket. Writing. Me, lying on a deck chair in the sun. Writing.

Me, supine on the screened-in porch at my dad's cottage. Writing. Me, in bed on the weekend, early before the kids get up. Writing. Within seconds, it was clear to me that Josh was right. Damn it! Not again! I always write lying down. It's weird, I know, but it's true. It's something that developed organically over the years, so slowly I didn't even know it was a thing. It just

is a thing, but it makes sense, to me at least. I do it when I want to change perspective, when I want to reflect, when I want to get outside myself. It's like in order to change perspective, I have to literally change my perspective. For me, that contemplative state comes with a comfy position, like lying on a couch, and often a cozy drink, a cup of tea, a latte, a glass of wine, or a fire in the fireplace. Something out of the ordinary, something to make it feel different. That's often the yellow couch in my office, but sometimes I need to go further afield. I love writing elsewhere, in coffee shops, in hotel bars, and my absolute favorite, on airplanes. It's like I'm far-sighted.

Sometimes I need distance to see things clearly for what they are. I have absolute clarity on airplanes. When I see the world from the porthole window of an airplane, it feels so small and manageable. Everything just sort of makes sense. The towns nestled between mountain ranges or hugging bodies of water. The lights warm and welcoming, everything organized and systematic, more like a little mini Playmobil world. Little trees like little problems. Sure, there's a lot of them but

they're so small. Leaving home always brings up big feelings, for me at least. There's a perspective that comes with going out of district. The awareness of my surroundings helps me see my regular surroundings in a new way. Sometimes that comes with gratitude. My bed is so comfortable. I miss my kids so much. And sometimes with clarity, I cannot keep doing this job or I need to ask for more help. So that's what we're gonna do today. Today on Backstage, we're going off piste. Today we're leaving Dave and Morley's neighborhood and we're not going to Dave's hometown of Big Narrow's Cape Breton either. We're going further

afield. And just like the perspective I have looking out an airplane window, these stories feel different somehow. They're distinctive. The unfamiliarity of the setting allows us to see the characters differently. Or maybe it allows the characters to see themselves differently. So put your headphones on and get out into the woods. Or save this episode for when you can stare out an airplane window.

Or just curl up on your cheerful bright yellow couch and pour yourself a glass of wine. We're gonna start with this story. This is Stuart McClain with The Canoe Trip. So Dave has already started planning next year's wedding anniversary celebration. He's been pawing through the brochures about hiking trips in Banff, boat tours on the Great Lakes, even a train excursion to the north. You get a certificate, he said, when you cross the Arctic Circle. I beg your pardon, said Morley. It's suitable for framing, said Dave. Dave and Morley got married in the summer

over 20 years ago, and Dave, you might be surprised to learn, has been planning all of their wedding anniversary celebrations for the last few years. Dave loves to mark each passing year, loves to tell everyone about the longevity of his marriage. It makes Dave feel rejuvenated and hopeful. Twenty years, over twenty years, and all is still well. It was this notion, this notion that he and Morley have hardly changed that led Dave to this year's idea.

The idea that this summer he and Morley should spend their anniversary the same way they spent their honeymoon in a canoe. The first canoe trip since their honeymoon. What do you think? said Dave to Morley as they got ready for bed one night in early June. They had the time. Stephanie would be tree planting. Sam would be at camp. Morley was in her mid-twenties that summer when they were married. They had gone to Algonquin Park, and she remembered,

oh, the call of the loons and the rippling leaves, and the two of them lying in their sleeping bags outside their tent, staring up at a sky of crowded stars. That would be perfect, said Morley. On their honeymoon, young and fit, and with time on their hands, they had spent six full days in the park. They settled on three days for their return trip, three days and two nights. The wolf of ambition was not as restless as it was when they were young. Dave found a route they could do in the few days they had, and one night late in June

he and Morley descended into the basement to look for their camping stuff. Morley sorted through the camping pots and pans. She checked out the propane stove, inspected the backpacks. She headed to the sporting goods store to fill in the holes that 20 years had made in their camping gear. Dave? Well, Dave was in charge of the tent. Their first day in Algonquin Park was gloriously sunny and warm. David morally paddled gently along the shoreline, talking about the kids and reconnecting with one another.

It took them longer to reach their campsite than Dave had predicted. By the time they dragged the canoe up on shore, the sun was dipping and the sky was dusty and orange. They set up camp. Morley pulled the camping pots from the canoe and Dave headed over to the edge of the clearing to put up the tent. He'd packed the same two-man tent they had used all those years ago. Not without checking it out. Checking it out included pulling the tent from the bag, confirming that there were still

poles and pegs, that the fly was there too. Checking it out did not, however, include unfolding the nylon tent or fitting the poles together, or doing a trial run by putting the tent up in the backyard. If he had done that, Dave would have realized that even that miracle fiber nylon changes over 20 years. In the 45 minutes that it took Dave to wrestle their tent up, he had plenty of time to take in the rotting seams, the cracked fabric, and the rusty zippers. Crouching inside to unroll the mats and put down the sleeping bags, he watched the last rays of the sun seep through the yawning gaps of their only shelter. Supper that night was reconstituted, freeze-dried chili. While it was cooking, Dave popped some freeze-dried turkey hash into his mouth.

You're supposed to add hot water to that, said Morley. I know, said Morley. I know, said Dave, who was chewing energetically. But you'd be surprised how good it is like this. At the end of the meal, Dave gathered all their food up, put it into an old green canvas backpack, a wood stripper. And then he tied a rope around the top of the pack, and he flung the rope

over a high branch of a maple tree some distance from their tent and then he hauled the food up high into the air. There he said, if the bears want a snack, they'll have to do a bit of climbing. Morley fell asleep almost immediately. Dave lay there grateful that she was so exhausted she didn't notice the mosquitoes that were moving in and out of the zipped up tent with impunity. And then Dave fell asleep too. Next thing Dave knew, Galway the cat was on his bed. She'd be doing this a lot lately, climbing up there before the alarm and rubbing around the pillow and tickling Dave with her whiskers. Don't get ahead of me. Dave knew what she wanted. She wanted Dave to feed her. And he half thought of batting her away.

But it was probably time to get up anyway, so Dave said, okay, Galway, and he opened his eyes. Now, like many people, Dave has in idle moments wondered how he might react if he ever found himself in the thick of a crisis? If he was, say, a customer at a bank during a holdup or a hostage in a hostage taking? Largely he wonders about these things in bed at night, lies in the darkness working out the steps he'd take if his parachute was twisted when it opened. Not that he has any plans of jumping out of a plane, but these are important questions and they're things that occupy Dave's mind when sleep won't. He's considered many things, worked through many scenarios, though never what he would do or should do if he woke up in a tent eyeball to eyeball with a skunk.

He said, okay, Galway, and he opened his eyes, and there was a beat of silence and then another, and what he did was he gasped and he sat bolt upright. The skunk scampered to the bottom of his sleeping bag and lifted his tail and stood there with his eyes locked on Dave's. Dave tried to look as friendly as he could. He smiled and nodded. The skunk twitched its tail. Dave froze.

Skunk, which was outside of the sleeping bag, was actually standing on Dave's feet, which were inside the bag. Skunk seemed undecided, and the two of them stared at each other for what felt like a long time, and actually was a long time given the circumstances. Five minutes passed, and during those five minutes minutes Dave had only one thought, don't move your feet. Morley was still asleep. Five minutes passed, though it felt much longer than five minutes, and then the skunk, who seemed to have taken Dave's smile as an invitation to stay a while, sat down. And began to snore.

Then it got up again and ambled over to Morley's backpack. Bag was lying in the corner of the tent and the zipper was open. And Dave watched as the skunk poked its nose into the pack. And that's when the squirrel leapt out. Blur of brown fur catapulted across the tent, and both the skunk and Dave jumped simultaneously. The skunk landed in Dave's lap. And Dave screamed, and Morley, who was still asleep, more or less, shouted. And then there was a flurry of flying fur and the sound of nylon ripping, and Morley

and Dave burst from the tent, Dave glanced at his watch. Ten thirty. Couldn't be. Oh my God, he said, hurry up, hurry up. We gotta pack up. He said, pack up, pack up. We gotta get going or we won't make it to the next campsite before dark.

Twenty minutes later, they were floating along the shoreline again. By 1230, Morley had gone just about as far as she could go without food. They decided to have a picnic on the water. Now at just about that time, Nellie and Ken Chapman were getting ready to take a break too. Nellie and Ken were paddling down the same shoreline that Morley and Dave had left behind. And at just about that time, Nellie and Ken spotted the campsite that Dave and Morley had vacated just a few hours earlier.

It wasn't the easy access or the small clearing that drew their attention. What caught Nellie and Ken's attention was the large green backpack hanging from the branch of the tree. What do you mean you forgot the food? said Morley, weakly. She wasn't as angry as you might imagine. Her right eye was swelling from a mosquito bite and her back ached. Morley felt too beaten up, too weak and too hungry to be angry. We'll go back and get it said Dave feathering his paddle in the water. It'll only take a few hours. But they couldn't go back and get it. They were supposed to pick Sam up the following afternoon at five.

They were two days' paddle away from the park entrance, from their car, from a telephone, from any way to reach their son. Morley could imagine the scene in her mind's eye, a deserted camp parking lot. Sam standing small and alone waiting sadly for the parents who had clearly forgotten him. Just paddle, she said, just paddle. As luck would have it, they were not entirely without food. After half an hour of paddling, Morley remembered that she had shoved some snacks into her pack and had forgotten to move them into the food bag the night before. There was a small Swiss

chocolate bar, two packs of sugarless gum, and a one-pound bag of red licorice. Dave watched in amazement as Morley pulled it from her knapsack. No wonder there was so much activity in their tent. He didn't say that. After the licorice stop, Morley and Dave fell into a rhythm, their strokes steady and even. Across the lake, Dave spotted a young couple paddling. They were the only people they had seen since entering the park. I wonder if they're on their honeymoon, said Dave. If they get a little closer, said Morley, I have some advice I'd like to give them.

By the late afternoon they'd entered a river. They were supposed to portage past the set of rapids and continue for another mile to that night's campsite. Dave maneuvered over to the left side of the river. Where's the portage? said Morley. Should have been right there. Dave was gesturing at the river bank.

It was a stretch of wet marsh, more a bayou than a bank. They could hear the rapids. They were going to have to get out of the river, portage trail or no portage trail. Dave wedged the canoe between two fallen logs as close to dry land as he could, and then he and Morley jumped out into the knee-deep water. They muscled the boat towards the shore. When they got to higher ground, Dave looked at Morley, who was sitting in the dirt, her back against the side of the canoe, her hair was tangled and matted and sticking out at odd angles. She was gritty and sweaty, her face sunburned and spotty. What? said Morley. I didn't say anything said Dave. They set off down the path

with the canoe hoisted over their heads. As they trudged along the Sun began to dip below the trees. Night was settling on the forest path. Dave took the lantern and held it in his teeth. And the two of them lurched along like two soaked donkeys. The canoe balanced awkwardly over their head. Morley was up to her ankles in mud, and she was sinking deeper with each step. Pretty soon she was wet up to her thighs,

covered in muck and mosquito bites. She could only see out of one eye. Her arms ached and her head hurt. Before long the mud was sloshing around her knees and Morley was thinking that she was about as uncomfortable as a person could be. Unfortunately she was wrong. At least she was wrong. A minute later, her foot settled deep into the oozing slippery muck. When she pulled it out, her shoe was missing. I don't have to tell those of you who are married that during a marriage, things get

sad. During a marriage, certain things, things self-respecting growing up might not admit to, well let's be honest, certain angry things do get sad. And after 20 years of marriage, 20 years of careers and child rearing, 20 years of homemaking and renovations, 20 years of car trips and school trips, 20 years of birthday parties and Christmas turkeys. Well a lot of these certain things get said. In fact so many of these certain things have been said in Dave and Morley's household that quite frankly Dave thought he'd heard about every certain thing that Morley would ever say.

Unfortunately he was wrong. He prayed it was just the licorice talking. The sun had completely disappeared by the time Morley and Dave stumbled into the clearing at the end of the portage trail. When they got there, the lantern battery gave up. Light dimmed and flickered out. Dave said, I guess this is the end of the road for us. Morley said, you can say that again. I meant for tonight, said Dave. They settled

their canoe in some muddy ground beside the river. Dave put Morley's soggy sleeping bag in the bottom and he crawled in. He had his feet under one seat and was leaning against the other. Morley got into the canoe and sat between Dave's legs. She covered herself with a rubber ground sheet and started to drizzle. Eventually, somehow, who can explain these things? Morley fell asleep. Not long after, she woke up with Dave nudging her, wake up, he said. Morley opened her eyes and when she did, the sky was glowing. There were flashing streaks of pale blue and green light filling the sky like sheet lightning. It looked as if someone had draped the horizon

with some sort of huge shimmering veil. It was the Northern Lights. Remember, said Dave, they had seen them on their honeymoon too. Dave and Morley sat in the middle of that canoe in the middle of that night under the most spectacular of light shows, the Aurora Borealis.

Dave's arms were around morally and she felt remarkably warm, cozy even, and comfortable. She moved her head onto her husband's chest. She heard his heart slowing down, beating a gentle, steady rhythm beneath his sweater. A loon called out across the water and the lights continued to dance. Morley sighed. I guess, said Dave, some things don't change after twenty years. No, said Morley. I mean yes. She sounded surprisingly content. I guess they don't, she said. Like I said at the beginning, Dave has started planning next year's anniversary already. He hasn't given up on the idea of taking another canoe trip sometime,

but next year he's thinking he'll try something different. He's been looking at a brochure for a place called the Albion Resort. The brochure is pretty slick. It says, the inn where we take care of everything. After 20 years of marriage, Dave knows good advice when he reads it. Thank you very much. Thank you. That was the story we call The Canoe Trip. We recorded that story on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, back in 2006.

We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story, So stick around. My husband, Josh, loves cars. He loves talking about cars. He loves researching cars. He will happily spend an entire evening comparing features and reading reviews. I just want to know that I'm getting a good deal and that I'm not missing anything important. That's why I really appreciate CarGurus.

They make it easy. Their site shows you advanced search tools, deal ratings, price history, all the stuff that helps you cut through the noise and feel confident about your choice. It's no wonder CarGurus is the number one rated car shopping app in Canada on the Apple App Store and the Google Play Store. They've got hundreds of thousands of cars from top-rated dealers to choose from, which means even Josh is impressed. CarGurus gives you the control to shop how you want to shop with all the tools

and info you need. And when you're ready, they'll connect you with trusted dealerships for a transparent, hassle-free buying process. So if you're in the market, buy your next car today with Car Gurus at cargurus.ca. That's C-A-R-G-U-R-U-S dot C-A. And make sure your big deal is the best deal. Welcome back. Time for our second story now. This is Stuart McLean with The Summer Cottage. Dave saw an ad for a cottage in the newspaper. The ad said, rustic Gatineau Cottage on beautiful lac de bou. The week before the kids left for camp, Morley had said, what about a cottage?

Could we get a cottage for a week in August and all go together? Dave called the number in the ad, and a week later, an envelope arrived with a schedule and five dark photocopied snapshots. Each picture had been folded randomly, so there was a crease bisecting it. Some on the horizontal, some on the vertical.

The package had the feel of an elementary school project. Dave said, there's a week free in August. Do you think we should take it? Morley peered at the smudgy photos. I can't make these out, she said. Is that a balcony? Maybe we should see it first. Dave was thinking if we don't go to a cottage, we're going to end up on the road again.

He would rather have had a needle in his eye than spend another family vacation in the car. I'm sure it'll be fine. He said there's a beach and an indoor toilet. There's not a lot available at this time of the year. I think we should mail a deposit. Morley pushed one of the photos across the table. I don't think it's a balcony, she said.

I think it's a woodpile. See how it slopes? Dave glanced at the picture. Balcony, he said, sounding as confident as he could. See the railing? It'll be great. What could possibly go wrong? The first thing that went wrong was Stephanie.

Two weeks at camp hadn't, as the brochure promised, instilled a sense of community in their daughter. I don't want to go away to a cottage, she said. What am I going to do at a cottage? She said the word cottage the way some people say dentist. It turned out that the week David reserved for the cottage was the week the deadly snakes were playing at the Shanghai club. I already have tickets, said Stephanie. Sell them, said Dave. They packed on Friday night

and they drove to the cottage on Saturday. They arrived just before supper, a six-hour drive. The trip was uneventful until Sam threw up outside of Smith Falls. They drove by the cabin road twice before they found it. "'This must be it here,' said Dave, pointing at two narrow ruts disappearing into the forest. There was supposed to be a sign. The grass in the middle of the driveway was over a foot high. They could hear it brushing along the bottom of the car as they bounced along the road. Stephanie said, this is stupid. Sam said, I don't feel so good.

There were two notes waiting for them on the kitchen table. One was from the woman who had rented them the cottage. The other was from the previous week's tenants. The owner's note said, welcome to Lac de Beau. This is just a note to ask you, please do not clean the shower stall and the bathroom and the kitchen floors. Pick everything out of the sink before you go to bed and put the red brick on top of the garbage can in the kitchen.

Help yourself to the rhubarb in the garden and the raspberry patch and read the sign above the toilet. Wishing you a very peasant holiday. L'isienne voir clair. Is that what it says? Ask Morley. Peasant holiday? Peasant? I'm sure she meant pleasant, said Dave. Why do you suppose she doesn't want us washing the floors? I don't know, said Morley, but I can live with that. The note from the last tenants was more direct. Good luck, it said. That's a little cryptic said Morley.

They mean have fun said Dave. I'm sure that's what they mean said Dave. I want to read the sign over the toilet. Anyone know where the bathroom is? The sign over the toilet said only the last person flushes the toilet please. The word last was underlined three times. What do you suppose that means, said Morley, the last person of the day or the week or what? I think it means you only flush when you have to, said Dave. Gross, said Stephanie.

How much did you pay for this place anyway? Dave left his wife and his daughter and his son upstairs staring at the toilet as if they had just lost a close relative. And he went to explore the rest of the cottage. And so Dave was the first person to walk into the living room. He stood in the doorway feeling like he was about to step back into the 1940s The room was dark like he had imagined a men's club might be the walls were unpainted tongue-and-groove pine boards Colored a red-brown by the years

There were old couches and a rocking chair and a faucet wood stove scatter rugs on the pine floor couches and a rocking chair and a faucet wood stove, scatter rugs on the pine floor, pennants, old photographs, and in the corner a Victrola with a hand crank. The room had the musty, rich smell of butter. Dave smiled, breathed deeply, and stepped into the past. A red squirrel popped up from behind the record player, jumped to the window sill and stared at him indignantly. Everyone said, Dave, come here, look at this. The squirrel chattered at him like an angry typist, then disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. And Dave walked around the living room like he was in a museum.

When Morley and Sam found him, he was reading the pennants out loud. Jungle Grove, 1948. Tamaracuda, 1947. And his favorite at the far end of the room, a red pennant with one word in white letters, Quebec. There were two crossed flags at the fat end of the Quebec pennant, the Union Jack and the old Quebec flag, the one with the Union Jack in the corner. "'This place stinks,' said Stephanie on her way past the living room door. A minute later, the toilet flushed. That night, as he and Morley were lying in bed, Dave said, "'Do you think Mrs. Bois Claire would miss the Quebec pennant if I took it?'

The kids were in bunk beds upstairs. Dave and Morley were sleeping on two single beds in a room off the kitchen. They were lying on their backs reading mysteries. Their mattresses were so soft that they had folded up on either side of them like wings. Dave had to prop himself up on his elbow if he wanted to see his wife. Outside there were frogs and crickets, and then there was a loon. It was the earliest they had been to bed for months. "'This is okay,' said Dave to the ceiling.

"'I like this.' "'Me too,' said Morley. Upstairs, the pad of feet running across the room, the sound of the toilet flushing, and Sam screaming, "'Stephanie, flush the toilet before she even used it!' "'It was disgusting,' said Stephanie. "'I'm not going to use a toilet Sam has used.' "'Go to sleep, you two,' said Dave. Settle down. It began to rain the next morning after breakfast. Dave and Morley were on the balcony drinking

coffee and they saw the rain coming across the lake like a gray curtain sweeping toward them. They could hear it on the trees. It sounded like a train coming through the yard. What's that? Called Sam from inside. But before they could answer, the rain hit the roof. Stephanie said, it's raining, stupid. Sam said, I know. Everyone came out on the balcony and watched the rain blowing across the lake in smoky gusts, dripping off the pine trees down by the water, pouring off the roof in front of them.

Isn't it beautiful? Said Dave. Now what are we going to do? said Stephanie. It rained all day. After lunch, Sam made a tent in the living room using blankets and the kitchen chairs. He put pillows in his tent and he crawled in with a book about a vampire rabbit called Bunnicula. He was there for 15 quiet minutes before his disembodied, disappointed voice floated out

across the room. I'll never read all the binocular books, he said. There are over 8 million in print. It was still raining on Tuesday when they woke up. Sam spent most of the morning in his tent until Stephanie finally persuaded him to come out and play cribbage. They played for half an hour before Stephanie realized the deck they were using was missing the jack of clubs. I'm not playing with a full deck, said Stephanie.

Pardon, said Stephanie. Pardon, said Dave, what did you just say? Morley was reading an interior decorating magazine from France that was making Dave nervous. It looked like it was written for the sort of people who could afford to go to France to buy a couch. After supper, Sam figured out how to work the Victrola. How did he do that? said Dave to Morley after Sam had gone to bed. David tried himself that afternoon and had given up after

half an hour. There were 22 heavy lacquered 78 rpm records in the cabinet below the turntable. the turntable. They played them all. Bad Sir Brian Botany by Stanley Maxted on DECA. The Happy Foxtrot by Boots and His Buddies on Bluebird. Bing Crosby. Most of the records had a different artist on each side. Dave and Morley danced together. Then Morley said, Come here, Sam, and Dave held out his arms to his daughter. On Thursday morning, Morley opened the kitchen cupboard where she had put the breakfast cereals and a bat flew out of the open door and over her head. She did the only sensible thing she could think of doing. She screamed.

Dave, who was still in bed, thought his wife had disturbed a burglar. They collided in the hallway, each running towards the other. Later Morley explained how the bat had come out of the cupboard. It was like in that movie, she said, the movie about the aliens, the one with that actress. I'm not worried about bats, said Sam. If there are any bats in my room, the snake will get them. them." Snake, said Morley. What snake? The snake in my cupboard, said Sam.

What snake in your cupboard? Asked Morley. There's a big snake in my cupboard, said Sam. It started to shed its skin. Stephanie said, I want to go home. Can we go home now? Dave said, we're not going home. After lunch he tried to build a fire to dry things out, but he couldn't get the logs to catch. I can do that, said Stephanie.

It was the first thing his daughter had shown any interest in since they had arrived. Dave shrugged and handed her the matches and the newspaper. I don't need paper, she said. Paper is for sissies. Dave had found a pile of Sports Illustrated from 1957. He had made it as far as July 22nd. Would the Rookie of the Year in the American League be Frank Malzoni or Roger Maris? Who had ever heard of Frank Malzoni?

Mostly Dave was reading the old ads. Hey, Mabel, black label. Martin's Scotch. That's the spirit. And on the back page of every issue, the Marlboro Man. He gets a lot to like. Filter, flavor, flip-top box. Dave wondered if the guy in the ads was the one who got cancer and made all the anti-smoking commercials. There, said Stephanie, perfect. And it was. A perfect little fire.

How did you do that? asked Dave. I learned at camp, said Stephanie. You just have to be patient, Daddy. It finally stopped raining on Thursday. Sam spent the last three days fishing off the dock. Dave cut the barb off his hook so he could throw the fish back every time he caught one. He must have caught that same poor old rock bass fifty times, said Morley.

As they watched Sam from the balcony, God bless stupid fish. If I have to untangle his line one more time, said Dave, I think I'll let him shoot the fish. They went swimming for the first time on Thursday before supper. The water was chilly and they ran across the lawn to the cottage and got into their sweatpants and it felt good to be cold and dry. They swam a lot after that, except for Stephanie. There was a spider the size of a sparrow living under the dock, and after Sam helpfully pointed it out, Stephanie refused to go anywhere near the water. But on their last night there, she built another fire, and when Dave and Morley were in the kitchen,

Sam cranked up the Victrola, and Stephanie taught Sam how to waltz. After dinner, the two kids put on a dance show for their parents that made all the rain and all the fights melt away. This is the foxtrot, they said. This is the polka. Dave and Morley clapped, and then they started dancing too. Morley drove the car back to the city. Dave sat in the back with Sam. They bounced down the driveway to where the road joined the highway. And as the car pulled out onto the pavement, Sam twisted in his seat and said, That was fun. Can we come back again next year? Yes, said Stephanie. Are we coming next year, Daddy? Maybe said Dave, maybe. We'll see.

That was the summer cottage. That story was recorded back in 2003. My husband Josh loves cars. He loves talking about cars, he loves researching cars. He will happily spend an entire evening comparing features and reading reviews. I just want to know that I'm getting a good deal and that I'm not missing anything important. That's why I really appreciate CarGurus. They make it easy. Their site shows you advanced search tools, deal ratings, price history,

all the stuff that helps you cut through the noise and feel confident about your choice. It's no wonder CarGurus is the number one rated car shopping app in Canada on the Apple App Store and the Google Play Store. They've got hundreds of thousands of cars from top rated dealers to choose from, which means even Josh is impressed. CarGurus gives you the control to shop how you want to shop with all the tools and info you need.

And when you're ready, they'll connect you with trusted dealerships for a transparent, hassle-free buying process. So if you're in the market, buy your next car today with CarGurus at CarGurus.ca. That's C-A-R-G-U-R-U-S dot C-A. And make sure your big deal is the best deal. All right, that's it for today. And that's it for this season of the podcast. Thanks for listening.

It feels so good to be sharing Stuart's stories with everyone once again. And we've loved hearing all your feedback throughout the season. I hope you have a great summer and don't worry, we'll be back in the fall. Until then, all the podcast episodes will stay right here, right where they are so you can listen again

whenever you want as often as you want. Plus, we'll have a couple of bonus episodes for you over the summer. So don't forget to subscribe to the show wherever you get your podcast. And if you do that, those special bonus episodes should drop right into your podcast feed. And let's plan to meet again, as usual,

the first Friday after Labor Day. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is Sacred Beast Greg DeCloote. Theme music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeClute and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again in September. Until then, so long for now everybody.