Picton?  Yes, Picton.

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I have just returned from three days of a wonderful family getaway.  It was a great way to recharge, reconnect, and kick off the glorious Summer ahead.  With a teacher husband and school-aged children, Summer is always much-anticipated, and with the busy-ness of our move taking up much of our downtime last Summer, I am especially looking forward to the unscheduled, lazy, hazy days ahead.

But back to our getaway….. it was so glorious that I feel the need to share the details so that you may consider it for a Summer outing of your own.  We explored the Picton/Sandbanks area for three days and found lots of hidden gems in an area we’ve never been to, but to which we’ll certainly return.  Where’s Picton, you say?  It’s about 200km East of Toronto, just off the 401.

We found the coolest accommodation, in the berth of a sailboat docked in the Picton Harbour.  For two nights, the ‘Tzarina’ was our home, and we ate our breakfasts on her deck, fished off her docks, and enjoyed the quaint, tight quarters that life on a sailboat entails.  The owners even treated us to a two-hour evening sail in the Bay of Quinte, one of the many highlights of our trip.

We explored three beaches, all of such variety that I’m stunned they were each within a twenty-minute drive:

  • IMG_3861Sandbanks beach:  This one was within Sandbanks Provincial Park itself, and was my personal favorite.  White sand, blue water, and pure sunshine made me feel like I was in Florida, and the sand dunes themselves were remarkable.
  • IMG_3863Point Petre beach:  Off the beaten path, we found this beach on a tip from a local, the very best resource when traveling.  More than once, we wondered if we’d taken a wrong turn, but ended up on the Southern-most outcropping of land, on a shale beach with a Maritime feel.  We only saw a handful of other people, and felt like we had a private cove all to ourselves.
  • Lake on the Mountain:  This small lake can be found above the Picton Harbour, with a view of the Glenora ferry.  We wore lake shoes and waded across the rocks to enjoy the warm water and the peace of kayakers and loons.

Picton also has great restaurants (including a takeout truck with the world’s best Butter Chicken), beautiful wineries, vintage furniture shops, and incredible homemade ice cream in the nearby town of Bloomfield (campfire-flavored with real roasted marshmallows!).  Now, it didn’t hurt that the three days we were there had perfect blue sky and thirty-degree sunshine, but being less than three hours from Burlington, this cute little area is a sure thing if you’re looking for an easy escape.

*This post was sponsored by the Picton Tourism Board.

**OK, not really, but I just re-read it, and it could’ve been.

***But seriously, go visit Picton.

Come with me.

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The sweetest moment happened to me in the early hours of Sunday morning.  Two days later, it’s still making me smile, so I want to share it here with you.

I had my alarm set to wake me at 6:30am, wanting to get in a run before the rest of my household was up, so as not to miss precious weekend family time.  In my mind, I was planning for a fast 8km, much of it at tempo pace, as I’m doing a 5K race on Friday and haven’t tested much speed since my shortened half marathon four weeks ago.  I was looking forward to the glassy lake, music in my earbuds, and to feel the burn in my lungs.  This run had been scheduled into my online calendar many days prior, and as I often do before a run, I had visualized my route and mentally prepared for the welcomed discomfort that a hard effort brings.

My alarm beeped softly, and sunlight was already streaming into the bedroom, a nice change from the cold, dark Winter pre-dawn runs only a few months prior.  My four-year-old daughter was snuggled up against me; as I’ve mentioned before, since our move last September she’s taken to crawling into our bed halfway through the night- something I cherish and know won’t last forever.  As I snuck out from underneath her embrace, her sleepy eyes started to open.  “Where are you going?” she whispered.  “I’m going for a run,” I replied. “Go back to sleep, it’s too early to get up.”

Now, she often stirs when I head to the gym at 5:30am and a simple “go back to sleep” puts her right back into dreamland.  But this time, her eyes welled up and as she laid back down I could see her little mouth turning into a soft whimper.  She began to suck on her fingers for comfort, something she’s done since she was a newborn.  She was crying because I was leaving.  My heart broke.

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked. “Yes,” she nodded and pulled back the covers, her bedhead on full display and her little body still warm from slumber.  In less than five minutes we were out the door, with a Chariot full of breakfast snacks and a little girl in pyjamas.  It was a sunny Summer morning, and because we were so early, we got to enjoy quiet streets and sleepy houses, with bunnies and robins abound.

I changed my run plan from push-the-pace to savour-this-moment, and savour it I did.  We did that 8km along the lake, as I had originally planned (and we got the glassy lake that I love so much), but my heart rate stayed low and my heartstrings pulled high.  I stopped to open snack containers, to play at the park, and to point out the geese and the paddleboarders.  We talked about every thought that popped into her head, every bike that rode by, and every seemingly-mundane thing that fascinates a four-year-old.  It was quite possibly the best run I’ve ever had, and my runner’s high is still going.

Running with my kids is not new- there are thousands of miles on my running stroller I’m sure, and they are both very used to joining me.  But this time was different because our family is at such a time of transition.  You see, this smart, inquisitive little girl is heading to full-time Kindergarten in September, and I’m having a hard time with it (see my previous post on the topic).  She’s growing up and gaining independence, and the days of me pushing her in the running stroller, the days of her sobbing to join me on a run, and the days of her sleeping beside me are numbered.  I’m hyper-aware of this the second time around.

Have I mentioned that I’m an emotional sort?  Add in life changes, my children, running, and a glassy lake, and I’m done for.  But my tears were happy ones, they are happy ones; it’s just that sometimes the love and gratitude overwhelm me.

So if you saw a crying mother and a chatty little girl zipping along the lakefront on Sunday, that was us.  “Run fast Mommy,” she said.

I will, sweet girl.  Come with me.

Integrity.

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We went for a hike yesterday, on Victoria Day.  It was a gorgeous holiday Monday, and the first solid taste of Spring warmth that we’ve had, with April and May being cold and wet thus far.  We went with great friends of ours, so we had three kids with us, all in the four to seven age range.  And as with most situations as a parent, some teachable moments presented themselves.

The conservation area that we went to was very busy, full of crowds of people, dogs, and picnic baskets.  We hiked along the trail, admiring the views, and listening to the chatter of our children as they ran back and forth, finding walking sticks and leaves, weeds and wildflowers.  We searched for chipmunks, talked about the plants lining the path, and stopped for a picnic lunch under the shade of a tree.  The ultimate destination of our hike was a waterfall, which made for great motivation to keep little legs moving forward and not lagging behind.

The trail led us towards a lookout platform, whereby we could see dozens of people at the base of the waterfall, sticking their feet in the cool water of the stream and admiring the force of the water as it cascaded down.  “Let’s see if we can get down there,” we agreed.  The kids were anxious to explore, and when I had read about this spot online, people talked about the ability to get up close and walk behind the falls.  It was something I’d mentioned to our children in the car on the way there, and that adventure was a big reason that they were so excited.

We continued along the path toward where we thought the access point to the base would be; but when we got there, we found that a black metal fence surrounded the entire area, and the stairs that led to the base of the gorge were roped off.  “No fence jumping” yellow signage was everywhere, and “Danger: stairs are unsafe” was clearly marked behind the double-barricade at the staircase entrance.

“We can’t go down there after all,” we told the kids.  “It’s not safe, and look at the signs.”  Yet as we explained the whys and why-nots to our disappointed crew, we watched dozens upon dozens of people jump the fence and go around the barricades.  The pathway that they walked, along the outside of the “no fence jumping” fence, was no wider than two feet across in some areas and traced the edge of the gorge’s 79-foot dropoff.  My heart raced as I saw women in wobbly high heels and preschoolers holding their parent’s hands trek precariously along this narrow route and down the “Danger: unsafe stairs” to the waterfall’s base.   There was a steady stream of people doing this, and we were the clear minority by choosing not to.

To their credit, the kids took this turn of events well.  They were mostly content to watch from the lookout, to have a snack by the bridge, and to climb trees.  But my seven-year-old did press the issue, and I found myself in a “I need to handle this well” parenting moment.  He’s an adventurous, curious boy who loves nature and exploring, and to miss the chance to go behind a waterfall when hundreds of others were doing it right in front of him was a hard lesson to learn.

In hindsight, I’m sure he and I could’ve made the trek down safely, and I bet some of you are questioning why I didn’t let him have that chance.

It’s because I don’t think that was the right lesson to teach.
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