On the way to Hilary's cottage, we stopped in the cutest eastern town called Tweed. Though it wasn't entirely appropriate to have the car running, kids and parents inside waiting, I took the opportunity to snap a few pictures of what I saw to, you know, capture the moment. There is something so magical about moving north from Toronto: something so rustic and authentic. It's a very organic life. I found the most joy from the elderly mother of twins who demanded we answer, "When is this heat going to BREAK?" and then ordered a hot dog in a buttered bun. Holy class. It was a swooning moment.
Unfortunately, we are going to miss the Elvis Festival in Tweed, happening at the end of August. It's the small things in life, folks.
I haven't the slightest what's going on with the next two pictures. Any thoughts?
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