That Campfire Cool is the second story in my five part series examining men and their relationship with long hair. Hat “Forest Easter Bunny” by House of Burger. “Classic Hoody in Salt & Pepper” by Roots Canada. Photos by Maxime Bocken. Hair by Cody Alain.
I used to actually want to wake up early in the morning. It was only in the summer months, when I spent July and August living in Muskoka’s magical cottage country. I was entranced by the mirror like meniscus of the lake, eager to fly across it with effortless ease. My mother would pour herself a mug of steaming hot coffee, adding a whisper of sweet Bailey’s and we’d march down to the dock. Slipping into the lake in the early morn is a cool endeavour, one that will not quench your thirst but a necessary evil to fly high. I was always amazed how in just a few short moments one can be submerged in the murky blue and shot into the air, soaring over a perfectly flat sheet of glass. I felt free when slalom skiing at the crack of dawn. Every other cottage was still sleeping as I carved a plume in my wake. At the end of my ride I’d always remove my back foot from the ski and tilt her backwards into the air, gracefully landing like a swan by our cottage’s barn-like boat house. I always felt lucky if I had a chance to spot a loon along the way, nurturing nature via 100 horsepower.
I’d spend the rest of my day soaking up the sun. Mother would sip on Coors Light while my sister and I scooped through nachos with sour cream, salsa and sharp cheddar cheese. It was during my summers at the cottage that I fell in love with reading, spending hours rifting through the pages of Michael Crichton and Archie Comics and Co. We’d always eat a late dinner, no earlier than 8pm, as mother didn’t want to move out of her chair until the beauty of that days crimson sunset splashed across the horizon. It was around 7pm when the waves on the lake would die down and I’d start nagging. If I got lucky I’d enjoy one more thrill ride before we rushed upstairs in search of supper. With my slippery wet feet I’d skip up the stone stairway, rushing into my bedroom to change out of my soaking bathing suit. I was most excited when the plan for the evening was: sausages on a stick blistered over open fireplace, sweet smores sticking to our fingers.
As summer comes to a close I can’t help but reflect on the thrill of those dreamy summer nights. That Campfire Cool represents a snapshot of my youth: running from the lake with sopping wet hair to a campfire in the woods where stories are told, jokes are cracked and friendships come alive. The look celebrates the sexy that is unkept beach bum hair, made comfy via classic Canadiana Roots zip up hoody. If one wants to make a statement around the bonfire, hold your wet locks under a fantasy cap inspired by gentle bunny and forests nymph. It is during the summer our childlike nature comes out to play most. I suggest we relish in it.
