I was 18 years old when I was first exposed to the fast flowing vagaries of time. It happened when my parents arrived for a vacation at Brant Lake. Since the age of seven I had spent my summers at camp, away from my parents, but that summer they had rented a cottage at the…
Horses can’t read! Or perhaps they simply refuse to follow directions. At the north end of Brant Lake a dirt road leads to the barns of Point O’Pines riding stables. On a normal day, beyond a canopy of maple trees, horses frolic in the fields, waiting to be ridden by campers. Ponies, palominos, colts, geldings…
Sheltering with the Loons 