Sunday

Yesterday afternoon, in an attempt to do something recreational as a family, we piled ourselves into the van and started the 20 minute drive to the farm in order to hike up Blueberry Mountain.  Alas, the mountain is really a hill but it goes by that moniker and I am not about to change such local lore in the interest of geographical correctness.  Onward and upward.

 About 7 minutes out of town Dave suddenly pulled over into the parking lot adjacent to the Wilno Tavern.  He asked me, "Check the Owner's Manual and tell me what an exclamation point atop a potato smasher means."  My involvement was really unnecessary as he had already realised that the van swaying to the side as if blown by a strong wind meant that the back tire had blown out.  And so had our plans.  We attempted re-inflating the tire with a magic aerosol can that claims to both seal and inflate.  Once upon a time it had proved magical on a friend's tire; however, its powers were no match for the flatness of our tire.  We listened to the aerosol hiss as the tire continued to emit a similar sound.  Dave decided to stop wasting time and call for emergency roadside assistance (one of the perks of a new van).  By the time he finally made contact with an operator and attempted to describe how little the hamlet of Wilno is like a city, we were told that we would need to wait 45 minutes to an hour for help.

 Thankfully, across the road from the parking lot, is a cultural museum dedicated to the Kashuby Poles who settled our particular part of the Ottawa Valley.  There is a genuine log home, some sheds, a shrine, cedar rail fences and bathrooms.  None of which were open.  More importantly, there is a significant green space in which to run around and the park is about 5 feet below the highway thus preventing Isaac from making any escapes.  After discovering that the bathrooms were not open, Dave took the boys to some trees.  Isaac, having only been out of diapers for a few months, found this foray into spring quite exciting.  In fact, he perfected a new-to-our-family method of urinating in which one lies face down in the grass without one's pants.  When finished, one rises from the ground without one's pants in the presence of strangers with an overwhelming look of satisfaction and delight.

As you can see, I attempted three photos of the kids in ascending order.  Sarah was completely unobliging; Isaac was only mildly so; and the others were more or less approving of their mother's photographic attempts.  I remarked to Dave that these photos will probably become family classics.  Other than taking pictures, running several races in which Joseph consistently lost and cried, and picking (yes, picking!) pansies planted in the colours of Kaszuby, we were also eaten alive by blackflies.  Sarah is still swatting at her ears 24 hours later.  The roadside assistance eventually came; changed our flat and sent us on our way.  We went home to burgers, fries and corn.  Remarkably, neither Dave or I was upset by the change in plans.  I imagine that if we had made it to the Mountain, someone would have fallen off the side.  By the grace of God go I.