First order of business is putting match to kindling in the woodstove. A chilly, gray morning—and we had no fire all yesterday—the sun making up for briskness. So now some heat feels good.

As a split of ash catches fire I lock the stove door, and then the three of us are off on our regular morning walk, Pax on lead just because early in the morning there are too many fascinating smells, and it's hard, after a long restful night, to keep enthusiasm in check.

We walk the Lane between vernal pools, past the big red oak, through the maple grove (now leafing out and growing darker), and around the bend to just before Murray and Elaine’s where the newly cleared hydro right-of-way intersects Serendipity. Here Sue doubles back while Pax and I head into the forest, aiming for the shoreline. No more leash, and Pax splits off, following his nose and being a natural dog. I walk the trail that wanders along the shoreline ridge, catching glimpses of the water and trying to assess the weather. Looks like rain. A long step over Tyson’s creek, which is still running strong, then along the water’s edge, barely making it around the old upswept cedars without getting my feet wet.

Both coming and going lots of bird sounds; not the the boisterousness of a southern Wisconsin morning, but birds of many of different kinds, not all of which (to my chagrin) do I recognize. Nearby cranes startle us with their stentorian honk, and woodpeckers rattle away at various points around the compass.

Back at the cottage, I’ve got the coffee going when Pax bangs in the back door, looking for his morning snack, but his feet are muddy and need a rinse. After toweling off all four appendages I put a quarter of a Burt Farm smoky and a dab of liverwurst in his bowl, alongside a handful of kibble (which he eats only when famished). The Keurig fills my cup, hot and black as Eddie Izzard says, and I head to the computer while Sue does a before-breakfast outside chore, as she usually does—today raking up a windrow of old reed stems that have washed ashore. After snack, Pax goes back outside to help.

A while later, post breakfast, when the rain begins, we decide to go to Gore Bay, for hardware (a slightly dripping gate valve at the head of the intake line needing replacement) and some larder supplies. Pax and I walk in light rain along the waterfront while Sue visits the small and soggy farmers’ market (first of the year) and comes away with two Purvis whitefish fillets and a blueberry pie.

Back home it’s lunch and naps. After that we dig out the compressor, chop saw, tall ladder, and nail gun; set it all up, and begin measuring, and cutting and nailing trim. We try to avoid getting carried away and stop with ample time for clean-up and a dog-walk along the shore, in the foggy drizzle.

For dinner it’s whitefish and blueberry pie—local fare. Factoring in the Burt farm, the summer’s farmers’ markets, and our garden, we are somewhat integrated into the Island food chain. We need to catch some bass and run over a couple of the wild turkeys often obstructing Maple Drive. But, it’s unlikely I’m going to shoot a deer.