A cabin, a lake, a family.
The message on the doormat greets me. “Take a deep breath. You’re at the cabin now.” Oh yes, I will and have been doing so for nearly 50 years. Fifty years of driving nine hours to arrive at a space surrounded by pine trees, water and the sound of the loons.
The message on the doormat greets me. “Take a deep breath. You’re at the cabin now.” Oh yes, I will and have been doing so for nearly 50 years. Fifty years of driving nine hours to arrive at a space surrounded by pine trees, water and the sound of the loons.
That’s vacation on a Minnesota lake.
It’s somewhat surprising to me what a hold that little space has had on our family. We haven’t spent entire summers there. More likely it was two weeks, often cut short by family, business or other obligations back home. Not only that, our accommodations were less than luxurious. We had indoor plumbing and electricity. But we hoped for mild weather as there was no heat or air conditioning.
Still we kept coming, returning nearly every year as our daughters grew from toddlers to adulthood. It was a family vacation that suited us just fine. Lots of swimming, tubing, paddle boats, loon watching, reading and best of all, no tv! Plenty of opportunity for our daughters and their cabin playmates to use their imaginations. Catch turtles for the the turtle races, feed the chipmunks, fish or just do nothing. Thank goodness no social media back then!
Some years, for a variety of reasons, we weren’t able to rent the cabin. So we tried others lakes and resorts in the area but always ended up yearning for the little spot on Middle Cullen.
The cabin, or at least the land it sets on, has a long history. Over 100 years ago, the first owners who were also from Nebraska, came to the area in Model T’s, scoping out a place to drop a line in the water and catch some fish. The brothers and their families built two cabins, one of which was ours. However, on further inspection, we surmised that ours might have been a rejuvenated out building brought in from a local farmstead. Now that’s rustic.
A few years ago the owner of “our cabin” decided to sell. Fortunate for us, he gave us the first opportunity to purchase. Whether we went in blindly or with eyes wide open, I’m not sure. But buy we did. Then what. Suddenly, and particularly now at retirement age when we could spend extended time there, that rustic cabin took on new meaning. As in, I don’t like to be too cold or too hot. Can we put in heat or air conditioning? One tiny bathroom. In this day and age? And it would be nice to be able to watch just a little tv.
Decision time. Do we renovate and remodel. A contractor looked at us a little skeptically. It was a split decision between our daughters — one, the sentimentalist, the other liking the idea of more creature comforts. The news of razing the little red cabin brought ire from our neighbors, longtime friends but owners of one of those two original Nebraska cabins. But as is often the case, those with the money win out, Destruction and construction commenced.
When it was all said and done, even our disgruntled neighbors couldn’t disagree with the wonderful outcome. Our sentimentalist daughter wouldn’t miss her time at the cabin, and we’re well into the third generation enjoying all the memorable activities summer on the lake provides.
Everyone has their own “sense of place,” an area, a space, that feels right with them, a place that helps them get right with the world, so to speak. That’s what this “place” on a Minnesota lake provides me.. Being a person that prefers always to be moving at break-neck speed with every hour scheduled, time at the lake sort of forces me to notch it down. It encourages me to put all the scheduling aside. To be quiet. To just be — and breathe.
Today we’re packing our bags for another trip to the cabin. We’ll get up early and drive the nine hours. Tomorrow after that long drive, we’ll wind down the lane overhung with pines and birch trees, step out of the car to look at the lake, listen for the loons and — just breathe.