Adrift on Otty Lake

This is truly a lost summer. We have been on Otty Lake, just south of Perth in Ontario, since July 5. One day seems to melt into the other. The water. The wine. The sun. These hours melting away. Most days there is a cool breeze rippling the lake. And not to mention the sunsets. Riotous splashes of pink, purple and blues and reds and golds.

Gainesville is far to the south. More a memory than a physical place. I keep in touch via the E edition of The Sun. And I find that all of the university city weirdness still remains even when I am not there to comment upon it.

I mean, some guy is running around town flushing mops into toilets. Because….Tom Petty is dead. The Gators are down but not out. But we still keep coming up with stuff to make our little college berg stand out. Harold Saive wants us to know that Mayor Lauren Poe’s recent trip to Hawaii was scandalous because….carbon footprint. And for all I know he’s right?

But never mind that. I’m on Otty Lake with the loons and the ducks and the deer flies. Here’s what passes for frenzied activity on Otty Lake.

Which is not to say that this place can’t be a beehive of activity. Just last weekend we went to the Stewart Park Festival and it was like Woodstock all over again. I kept waiting for County Joe and the Fish to appear but what we got was some alt-folk-rock band from Montreal called El. Coyote. The place was rockin’.

And that was just the adults. The kids were performing some sort of pagan ritual on the nearby River Tay. Hippy wanna-bes.

Listen, I don’t want to say that Perth is a sort of mini-Peyton Place but this town has a dark legacy involving rival law students, the love of a good school teacher, hot lead on a cold morning and death by duel. Canada’s last affair-of-honor-to-the-death match took place here in 1833, and it is so notorious that they ended up naming a beer after it. Oh the humanity.

And that’s not even to mention the Affair Of The Mammoth Cheese. But never mind that. The point is that Perth is nothing if not a simmering pot of intrigue approaching full boil. All of that friendliness and affability is just a facade. They coulda filmed “Blue Velvet” here and still not scratched the surface. We’re talking intrigue, mystery, deflection and haircuts.

But I digress. On the other hand, can we really digress? What is digression, after all, if not a escape mechanism? How deep is that?

Let’s see…where was I. Oh yes, adrift on Otty Lake. Which as we all know is fed by the Stream Of Consciousness. I’m getting drowsy.