Robin — July 20, 1908

July 20, 1908

Kelowna, B. C.

My dearest Kathleen,

I missed your letter last week but have hopes of getting it this afternoon as I rather think it got delayed but is on its way, as some papers I take in didn’t come either.

I am in the middle of haying now and shall be very glad when it’s over.  We got two rainy days last week, the first for months, which put me back a whole lot; but the other days were real scorchers, 93º in the shade on Saturday, which is plenty warm enough to work in but needless to say is not nearly as bad as the same temperature would be in England.  This week we start hauling, which is where my part of the hard work comes in.  So far I have been driving rakes and things all day but now Harry and I have to start pitching hay onto the wagons, the very thought of which makes me tired.  I should have about 170 loads altogether and it keeps two men pretty busy to pitch 30 a day.  

Yesterday being Sunday and a day of rest and something over 90º in the shade, I played tennis all through the heat of the afternoon, which sounds foolish and probably was.  They have started a club about six miles down the lake in that part I told you of where all my friends are congregated and they have one or two quite good courts there now.  I drove down with a vast block of ice in the rig and we made ice cream in the evening, which seemed to disappear in a miraculous fashion.  After tennis we all went and wallowed in the lake, which is one of the pleasures of this life that I want to introduce you to.

I think another year, as soon as haying is over, that is to say about the end of July and the hottest time of the year, that you and I will go out camping down the lake, if there is still any lake shore left that hasn’t got some campers out on it already.  Pretty nearly everybody goes out.  All along the shore by the town there is a line of tents and small shacks to which the business people and their families migrate in the hot weather and shut up their houses, thereby giving their wives a rest from all house work, which really must be trying in the town in August.  As you may suppose, we will not put up our tent in a line with anybody else’s.  My idea of camping is to go about ten miles down the lake, where there are some lovely camping spots and no one else anywhere near, and eat and read and sleep and bathe (and, entre nous, make love to you a little every now and then).  I wonder if this will come about next year; I am always wondering that.  It must somehow, I don’t think I could stand another year.  This one is bad enough and seems to get worse as the time goes on.  You will make a dear little wife, Kathleen, and the sooner I can tell you that you are one, the sooner shall I be satisfied.

You seem to be seldom at home these days.  I rather envied you the Exhibition and the Horse Show, both of which things I should like to see; but I hope the dentist was merciful.  [These references may be to Kathleen–June 24, 1908.]  I hate the idea of your suffering in any way, though I’m afraid that won’t make you feel much better next time you have toothache.

I must go out and work now.

Yours as always,



Kathleen’s Thread

Robin’s Thread