Dog Days of Summer

Digital art collage by Stella Kalaw

A straight shot twelve hours east through mostly coniferous forests along mostly the Trans-Canada Highway gets you to almost the edge of the world. Second Peninsula in Nova Scotia.

It's the first time Jonathan and I have made this drive. I loved the way the landscape gradually emptied itself of everything familiar, and the moment when I again realized how vast this country is. The beauty of Canada is something special to behold. It stays with you long after you've returned to the buildings and concrete.

The air here is clear, the ocean in front of me lies still as a glass plate in the early morning hours, and there is a profound silence when the refrigerator stops its mechanical conversation. It's the kind of quiet that makes you understand why monks seek it out, why writers flee to cabins, why the rest of us spend small fortunes for a few days of it.

Second Peninsula is a perfect place to spend a few dog days of summer, though I confess I had the phrase wrong for most of my life. "Dog days" brought to mind our dog sprawled across kitchen tiles during a hot day, but it turns out the ancients were looking up at Sirius, the brightest star in Canis Major, the big dog, rising with the sun in late July. The Greeks and Romans believed that this bright star was responsible for the summer heat. Our dog days now come much earlier and burn much hotter.

For the past five years, the dog days for me have come to mean it’s time for a deliberate pause. The world insists on its urgency—every headline demands immediate outrage or despair. But here, with salt air drifting through screens, I can turn down the volume. Not off—I'm not that brave—but down to a manageable whisper.

This is my annual retreat from A Considerable Age. I'll be back in two weeks with more stories.

Before I go, though, I want to extend what I imagine an old-fashioned Canadian mother would have called a proper invitation. My actual Polish mother would have considered any invitation that didn't involve food to be suspiciously incomplete. If you've been thinking about sharing your stories, consider this your personal engraved card. I would love—truly love—to share your words with our community. There's something about other people's stories that helps us make sense of our own, especially when sense feels in short supply.

I'm leaving you with two of my favourite Considerable Age stories. The first is from a friend I met through writing—proof that making new friends late in life is one of the best gifts one could receive. The second is my own, written when I still had time for stories before I started wrestling my book into its final shape. More news on that front soon.

Thanks so much for being a faithful reader and supporter of A Considerable Age. POSTCARDS from CANADA, a Substack by three good friends, will continue while I am away. There has never been a more important moment to share who Canadians are.

I wish you all the very best during the dog days. And I apologize for the reference to readers in the southern hemisphere who are experiencing winter.