June 22, 1917
Once again the weather turned for the worse. I woke up to rain in the morning. Yesterday, there was no sign of a change of weather. I stayed most of the day in my tent.
The tent that I set up at Hayhurst is an old surveyors tent that I used. I purchased another tent for camping trips. That’s the one I’ll be sending up to South River to the Watties. This tent is a large canvas and the the poles and pegs I cut from the trees nearby. The bedding is made from balsam limbs. The limbs are cut and laid in a pattern in the tent to yield a soft sleeping surface. It’s actually quite fine to lounge the day on this balsam bed as I did today listening to rain patter on the canvas. When the rain let up, I went outside, sat against a tree, had my pipe and read.
It’s a wonder how these gray days can pass by so quickly. The coals were still hot from the night before and it was easy to make a good fire again. I made a pail of tea, and set beans in the bake-kettle. It rained on and off, but started to clear during the later part of the evening. Tea and baked beans were the menu tonight. Once it became darker, I went back into tent, laid out my blankets, rolled up my boots in my coat to make a pillow for the night. There is a slight breeze, making the flaps ripple open. Through the ripples, I can see the lake and its reflection of the night sky. The sky is clearing up and the stars are coming through. I can hear voices across the lake. I don’t think they are coming from Mowat Lodge. It sounds like they are coming from Little Wap Island, or Taylor Statten’s place. I don’t recognize the voices, so Iwonder if Taylor has already left for the United States for his YMCA course. He planned to rent out his cottage to a Dr. from Toronto, Dr. Howland, I think his name is. Maybe I’ll canoe over tomorrow and introduce myself.