Summers are short in Canada. School’s out; carefully husbanded vacation days are spent. We pack them full of activity.

We fill our days with friends and family. We break bread; feasting in the age-old tradition of communion. We barbeque, we dine, we picnic, we drive hundreds of miles to reunions with extended family; summer’s bounty graces our table, sharing food binds us together.

We go outdoors. Hiking, walking, sailing, cottage living, running, cycling, swimming, canoeing. We explore, test our limits and reconnect with our physical selves.

We play; games, sports, live arts, theater, music, concerts, festivals. Our senses are filled with delights.

All these shared experiences build a bank of memories that nurtures and sustains us through our long winter nights.

I have been blessed this summer; my summer is full of shared experiences.

Two weeks in Ontario with Blair were filled with all the best of summer, made better by sharing them with my son.

I finally managed to visit Niagara Falls; we shared lunch and enjoyed the spectacular view from the Skylon Tower, one of Canada’s most iconic tourist sites.  The Canadian side of the Falls is spectacular.

The reason for our visit is a family wedding celebration at the Laura Secord Homestead followed by dinner at Queenston Heights, surrounded by our icons of the War of 1812 victories. The wedding was a reunion, provided us both an opportunity to reconnect with three generations of my sister’s family.

The Shaw Festival is summer arts entertainment at its best, The Madness of King George, Saint Joan, al fresco meals and a leisurely pace, Timmy’s coffee in a small town; what could be more laid back? It is an idyllic summer festival in a deliberately quaint small town.

We avoid Toronto and head for Algonquin Park for a few days of hiking in the jewel of Ontario’s park system. This is perfect; long walks through forests, climbs to vistas of the northern shield, Austin (Blair’s dog) and I seem well-matched; we start strong and finish slow. It is a perfect top-up of walking training for my long summer’s walk in France, it certainly beats tramping the streets of Vancouver as preparation, although donating a pint of blood to the mosquitoes of Ontario seems an unnecessarily high price to pay.

We manage to arrive in Ottawa in time for the summer bluesfest, my first outdoor summer concert since…well….forever. What have I been missing? Why would I avoid these celebrations?

The bands we watch are quintessential New York bands – major contributors to the soundtrack of Blair’s years as a student and lawyer in the Big Apple. I forage for food, watch the crowd, take in the music while he is carried to another place, the power of music to remind us instantly of who we are and where we’ve been. It is a gift to step into his world; I’m reminded of how music lays down the unique soundtrack to the movies of our lives. His LCD Soundsystem is every bit as powerful as my Bruce Springsteen.

We finish off our road trip with a few visits with my old friends and a drive to Montreal. I’m dropped at the airport; stuffed to full with two weeks of shared experiences. Niagara Falls, Shaw, Algonquin Park, Bluesfest; interspersed with small and big conversations, road miles, dog walks and movies, breakfasts in diners and an essential visit to Wild Wings. I am blessed.

My latest walk beckons; I usually walk alone. This time Kristen is joining me halfway through my two week pilgrimage in France.

We meet in Arras; I’ve been walking for a week and need a day of R&R. Arras offers an opportunity for us to visit several memorable Great War sites that are meaningful to Canada. Our day-long trip leaves us drained; it is impossible to ignore the pain, the suffering, the loss, the inconsolable grief that exudes from Vimy, Beaumont Hamel, the Commonwealth War Graves, the French monuments at Thiepval and Notre Dame de Lorettte and the German Cemetery – all are a continuing reminder of the folly of war.

The next day we walk. These walks can be challenging; we are walking through beautiful country but we walk some 25-30 kilometers a day, with little access to water, food or other comforts. Hotels are rare, finding lodging that is within reasonable walking distance is the primary consideration in all our plans. We are carrying everything we need, little more, on our backs. One of the joys of walking is the reminder of such simple but profound impacts as weather – we survive a blustery downpour.

There are joys and surprises; we arrive in Bapaume, in the middle of a country fair, complete with carny rides, a parade and French version of Carny food – the local version of mini donuts is infinitely more decadent. Fatigue fades, we find a curbside seat, eat our treats and celebrate our good fortune.

Kristen loves a puzzle, particularly a travel puzzle. We have signposts for the route that seem to be randomly placed, an inadequate guidebook that is 7 years out of date and too many choices – a web of small roads, big roads, tracks and trails that offer too many options.

I want the shortest route to my nightly lodgings; Kristen would prefer a more esthetic path, smaller roads, less auto traffic, pleasant villages, a damp place on a quiet trail where snails meander across the path.

Each day, she finds new resources, the internet offers ideas that I had not discovered in six months of research. She has data and uses it; who knew our I-Phones were such guides. I may be onto something for future walks – no more paper, more robust data plans. It’s lighter and takes up less room in my pack.

We sort it out, actually…she sorts it out. We manage to find accommodation, although a few short strategic taxi rides are needed to make some lengthy walks more acceptable.

We finally arrive in Reims, our destination, a place whose name I still cannot pronounce – don’t get lost near Reims, you’ll never be understood when you try to tell the locals where you want to go.

Reims is on the edge of Champagne country; it seems celebrations are in order.

Our reward for our walk is a train trip to Paris to pick up our resupply of civilian clothing and a further train ride to Dieppe to see ML and the oasis of her home in Varengeville-sur-mer.

Long lunches, long walks, longer talks; much laughter and a few tears, a chance to meet her friends and make some new acquaintances. The days pass too quickly, full and fast paced – well, except for the afternoon naps. A chance to try oysters for the first time.

An oasis indeed.

We welcome new guests and depart the next day. Two days in Paris with Christopher await. Again, Kristen and Chris take over – my holiday curators. We find our AirBnB in the 19th, a part of Paris that is unfamiliar.

Our Sunday brunch overlooks the city, with the Eiffel tower and Montmartre in the distance. We find the Picasso Museum and explore his multi-media brilliance.

The coup-de-grace is a charming tiny bistro off a back street near our home. With less than 20 seats, it is small, intimate and surprisingly good. We manage to chat with the chef; there is an air of celebration – the restaurant is closing this evening for the annual August vacation.

The next day I am on my way home – five weeks of adventure is over.

I am reminded that adventures are only one way of adding purpose and meaning to my life. The adrenaline rush, the activity and the novelty of the unknown can mesmerize. The true and lasting value of my adventures is found in shred experiences with family and friends – particularly Blair and Kristen.

It isn’t complicated; we find something to do, we carve out time to spend together, we make things happen and then we relax into the experience. There is no magic in “quality time” – time together is what matters. Shared experience is what matters. It’s watching my son, lost in the music of his life; it’s watching my daughter joyfully unravelling of the daily puzzle of our walk, it’s enjoying a two hour brunch with Kristen and Chris as we dissect his latest cycling escapade.

It’s small victories, shared jokes, tiny nudges, knowing glances, long comfortable silences and profound insights.

It is the joy of shared experiences.