In the summer the greens are too intense and undifferentiated to interest me.

Mark: 'Bartlett's been talking to Sam Hughes again, Hughes has been fired by PM @BobbyBorden '

The land that raises you will always be a part of you.

Mark: 'Bartlett asked me to relay a request, but only if you can promise the utmost secrecy.' I am intrigued.

Mark: 'Tom, you shouldn't have disappeared with Fannie, yesterday. George Bartlett wanted to ask you something.'

I stripped my life down to its bare essential.

I can see the lake, calm like glass, I undress and go back to sleep

Shannon, myself and recently arrived honeymooner, Charles Robinson.

Down below Joe Lake Dam where the canoes are.

I am going to the Hotel Algonquin for the Sunday Lay Service. Ed Colson leads the service.

I roll the blankets tight around me. I move to adjust for comfort. The smell of mothballs has not yet faded.

I canoe over to @mowatlodge and fetch the canoes before they float down the lake. Another favour for Shannon.

There's not many people I dislike, but when I do, I dislike them intensely.

I often produced something that I never intended.

Waking up stiffer than a corpse this morning.

Dr. MacCallum chides me for not sending anything to the @OSAartists Spring Exhibition this year. I feel my guard go up.

I spend some time talking to Dr. MacCallum. He's had enough of canoeing and the outdoors, staying by the fireplace.

Shannon's idea of a regatta has now devolved into some sort of canoe race out and back.

Unfortunately, Shannon has little notion of what a regatta is beyond that it involves boats in the water.

It was in the spring of 1912 that I fell in love with Algonquin Park.