One of the first things we noticed during our early weekends at the cabin was how differently mornings unfold here. There’s no alarm clock buzzing or rush to get anywhere. Instead, mornings begin naturally—with soft light filtering through the trees and the gentle stirrings of Inky and Callie, who always seem to wake up before anyone else.
I’m usually the first one up, along with the dogs. The three of us step outside to greet the day. While they run freely around the cabin—no leash required, unlike our city routines—I stand for a moment, breathing in the crisp air and soaking in the quiet. It’s become a small ritual, that pause before anything else begins.
Not long after, Phil gets up and heads to the kitchen to start the coffee in our stovetop percolator. No rush. Just the smell of coffee brewing, filling the cabin with warmth. He brings it out to the porch, and we sit together with our mugs in hand, watching the trees sway and the dogs patrol the yard. There’s something about sipping coffee outside that makes everything feel slower, richer.
Miles is usually the last to rise—often later than his usual wake-up hours—and we let him sleep in. Eventually, he’ll wander out, groggy but curious, often with a sketchbook or headphones in hand, ready to ease into the day at his own pace.
We eat when we’re hungry. Some mornings it’s eggs and toast on cast iron; other days it’s fruit and peanut butter or whatever’s simple and satisfying. We talk more here, but we’re also more comfortable with silence. The dogs roam, sniffing and exploring like it’s their job.
It’s amazing how little we actually do those first few hours—and how meaningful it feels. The absence of noise makes room for presence. At the cabin, even the most ordinary routines feel like rituals.
We’ve started bringing a little bit of that slowness back to the city. Not every day—Toronto has its own pace—but enough to remember what mornings can feel like when you let them.
And when we return to the cabin again, it’s those mornings we look forward to the most. Not the projects or the errands, but the coffee, the porch, and the quiet space between waking and doing.
That, and the way Inky and Callie greet the day like it’s the best one yet. Every. Single. Time.
