They're coming...they're here.
With their designer handbags, SUVs and candy-coloured sports cars, latte in one hand, phone in the other, carefully accessorized children in tow.
It's Thanksgiving weekend and the Summer People are back for one last arrogant hurrah before boarding up their cottages, turning the keys over to the hired-help caretakers, and Porsching their way back to the city to get on with their important lives, until next May calls them back here.
I've spent four full-time years up here, and I admit that with each new winter, I become more misanthropic and more reclusive. Six months of snow will do that to you. But even before becoming a year round resident I've never identified with the monied crowd that summers here. I don't resent them so much as I resent their lack of appreciation for the peace and quiet of nature, which they not only do not notice, but actively trample over.
When Tuesday morning comes, I will breathe a sigh of relief. Between now and then, you'll find me deep within my turtle-shell...