It's Saturday morning, and my weather app tells me to expect sunny skies and a high of 64. We'd just spent the previous evening watching the Northern Lights dance across the sky while drinking wine and home brew (and noshing on this deliciously simple Raspberry-Ricotta Cake from a recipe I tore out of Bon Appetit) around our fire pit. Our new friends were over who just moved here from Chile, which makes our adjustment from life in Lake Tahoe to Red Lake look a whole lot easier.
"Let's get out of here," I say to Charlie after breakfast, which can be easier said than done at this time of year.
Luckily the warm weather has melted enough of the snow so that it is navigable outside without snowshoes, but not so much that everything is totally muddy. We decide to make the hour and a half drive to see Perrault Falls and have lunch at the only restaurant in the area, The WhiskeyJack. Perrault Falls is a blip on the radar, and honestly if you look down for a few minutes, you might miss the area entirely. It consists mostly of a few lodges that center around the waterways and the namesake falls.
The WhiskeyJack is my favorite restaurant in our neck of the woods. Granted it's the same fare you'd find at most restaurants here—burgers, pizza, poutine, sandwiches—but the couple who runs it actually makes everything from scratch, even the bread. You can really taste the difference.
The place is filled with antiques from the area. Old crates of Canadian Moose Lager, vintage cribbage boards, rustic maps and fishing gear. On the stage with the owners' band set-up, "The Electric Beavers" is painted across the drum. Sometimes I can't help but laugh about how truly and stereotypically Canadian things are around here.
We pick up a flyer with the line-up for The WhiskeyJack's concert series, which kicks off in May. Lots of bluesy roots bands come out of northwestern Ontario. Nearby waterfront cabins are available for rent at the lodges so we could enjoy the concert without having to worry about a long drive home.
Then on to the falls we go.
Walking through old cedar trees, we hear the rush of the water before we see it. The snow has melted in places, then solidified into a treacherous slippery slope in other spots shaded by those same lovely trees. We make our way down the hill with Daisy in front. Four legs are better than two, pretty much always.
Before us is a series of falls descending down a gradual hill to the lake below and running full and fast thanks to the generous donation of snowmelt they recently received. Charlie walks across to a rock to soak in the sun; Daisy follows.
Leaving them to bask on the rock, I walk further down the side of the falls to take a peak at the lake. A minute later, I feel something brush against my leg. My furry shadow. I crouch down to give her a hug. Never have I met such a faithful, watchful creature.
As they say, a weekend well spent means a week of content. Happy Monday!