...and we were there too.

This was early August, and a week on the Magdalen Islands was a welcome segueway between my summer job and another year of teaching. There were five us: Kevin and Angélique with Ruth, Simeon and me, and we started on PEI, where (as you can see) we took some time to reflect.In a shop window, downtown Charlottetown. Simeon eased comfortably into his role of smile-magnet in the backpack carrier worn by his papa.

...and in a very cool mirrored folding screen.

Sunset over Cavendish Beach. Here we had spent the afternoon, swimming, reading and sunbathing - which was to set the tone for the entire week ahead. The next day, the end of a five-hour ferry ride found us sailing past the enchanting Entry Island, the first in the Magdalen archipelago. We would return to it late in the week, to climb those hills and roam the trails a while.

The house we were staying in had a greenhouse, and that greenhouse had a snail. This snail. I think he dreamed of flying while he traversed the glassen roof.Suppertime - nothing to see here, everything under control...

Most nights, after supper was had and the sun (who'd had just as long a day as us) was going down, we'd walk across the road and onto this beach, which every night looked like this: not a soul around, just us, the sunset, and the Atlantic rolling in. Almost the entire archipelago is surrounded by sand, after all, so it's not hard to find a beach with no one on it. And then we'd gather driftwood, light a fire, and plan the next 24 hours....the plan usually involved a lot of sleeping on beaches and shopping in shops and eating in

cafés. The following is in Café de la Grave, once a general store. Evenings there were bliss: live music, fine coffees... what more can I say?

Simeon gets rock-skipping tips from Kevin on a windy day.
Miles and miles and miles of this, and hot hot hot (though warm weather is uncommon there). What a welcome break it was from the unending shower that was June and July.
Entry Island: We hiked, Simeon rode. It was a good day.Atop the aptly named Big Hill.

Horses and cattle roam the back of the island, the residents having found it needless to build a better fence than the Atlantic Ocean.I'm not kissing this horse; it only looks that way.


Inside the island's tiny church, the notes of hymns are transcribed in solfège for the organist.

Roving.

In our humble opinion (of which I've been asked, "If your opinion's so humble, why do we keep hearing from it?"), the Magdalen Islands is one fantastic getaway, very close to home. Give it a shot.