Long journey North.

There’s something about life on a lake that forces a person to do nothing — Just “be.”

It was another one of the “firsts” I must deal with, and perhaps the hardest of all: going to the cabin without him.

BEFORE

For 50 years, give or take a few misses, we have traveled to Minnesota to spend family vacations in a cabin on a lake. Not a big lake, by Minnesota standards, and not a big cabin (although we had indoor plumbing). For a couple weeks each year we spent time lazing on the dock, splashing in the water and just doing whatever. We loved it.

In some ways, that lake time was a microcosm of our family life through the years. Pictures every year at the end of the dock traced the growth of the daughters. We started small, renting the cabin through an extended family member. Occasionally, we tried other resorts and other lakes, but always found ourselves yearning to come back to that little lake. There’s something about life on a lake that forces a person to do, well, nothing. Just be. And that’s what we did. We were asked often if we fished. Well, maybe a little. But that was not our aim. Mostly what we wanted was time: time with family, time with each other, time to just “be.”

Of course our family grew over the years and expanded. The little red cottage stayed the same, but we didn’t. As we grew, so did our ideas and our capacities. Eventually, we moved beyond that little cabin. We bought and built, but stayed in that wonderful little space. Except the little red cottage was gone.

We all enjoyed the cabin and the lake, but Mike really loved them. I think it was mainly because it brought “his” family together, even if only for a few short days.

Even after his cancer diagnosis we continued to have great family times at the lake. This photo was taken last summer, 2022. And at the end of that summer, we were optimistic. So much so that Mike decided we should have the pontoon boat refurbished. As he pulled away from the dock and drove it to the boat shop, little did we know that it would be the last time he drove. it.

DURING

It’s a nine hour trip from central Nebraska to central Minnesota. Plenty of time to relive the memories, think about the arrival. What would it feel like to pull into the little lane and into the cabin yard. I was glad daughter Mollie was with me.

The arrival was absolutely gut-wrenching. Like experiencing those first few days after his death all over again. I parked the car and broke down. Mollie grabbed the keys to open the cabin. I just sat in the driver’s seat and wept.

I honestly never knew that grief and loss could feel so unbelievably physically heavy. As I eventually climbed out of the car, it seemed like I had weights tied around my ankles. I could hardly move, or maybe it’s just that I didn’t want to. How could I possibly enter that cabin to the realization that I’d never see him there. The straw hat will forever hang by the door. It was always the first thing he reached for once the car was unloaded, before he headed to the dock. Would I get anything done except sit and cry?

Slowly I emerged from my sorrow, took a deep breath and moved a little. There were things to do. Windows to open. Beds to make. A grocery list to restock the kitchen. During the week, we went to the farmer’s market, stopping at the “dill pickle” lady’s booth. Mike liked visiting with her about her garden and her pickles. We returned some of her jars and bought more of her amazing pickles.

Then there was that pontoon — newly refurbished but never to have its owner at the helm. Since it was nearing the end of the season, arrangements needed to be made to put in storage. Fortunately, Mike had contacted a new boat storage company. They would come to the public access to pick up the boat, but we had to get it there. Mike had kept urging me to spend more time driving that big monster. I did — a little — but I didn’t feel comfortable navigating into the area where it was to be put on a trailer. Fortunately, a cabin neighbor stepped in to drive it away.

As the week went on, I should have gotten in my kayak and gone for a lap around the lake, but I felt no energy to do so. I simply watched the granddaughters go out on the paddle boards.

I did spend a fair amount of time paging through the cabin photo books. Each Christmas we eagerly await the present from our daughter Jill. She fills a memory book with photos we all take during our time at the cabin, adding her own beautiful literary commentary. It’s hard to collapse years and years of memories into a few pages, but they help preserve the memories.

I cried and cried as I looked at the books, but eventually a smile crept in as I recalled all the wonderful times we have had at the cabin.

AFTER

Mollie and family left on Labor Day. Penny and I had our time alone, and I said goodbye to our cabin neighbors. Then it was time to go home.

There’s a process to ending the summer at a cabin. I didn’t think I’d be back for this season, so I cleaned out the refrigerator and checked staples and spices in the cupboard if they should be taken home or kept there. Fortunately, our cabin is all season with heat and air-conditioning when needed. But we hire someone to “winterize” it, which means blowing out the pipes and adding antifreeze . I also hired a new person to take out the dock. When I was ready to leave, I checked Mike’s list. Bless his heart, he’d written down in very succinct and easy to understand (he knew me) terms what needed to be done: empty the ice maker; turn off breakers 6 and 8; turn off the well (and he identified exactly where it was located), take the garbage and lock up. I took one last look at the lake, listened for that lonely loon and got in the car.

Penny and I made the trip just fine. Fortunately, she is a very good traveler. Once she realized she couldn’t sit on my lap as I drove, she nestled into the passenger seat and stayed there pretty much the entire time.

Mollie recommended I get an audio book for the trip. I opted for a few podcasts, but mostly just thought about the process I’d just been through and what might be the possibilities going forward.

I’d taken a lot of photos of the cabin because we’re having family discussions about the future of the cabin. Will I spend an entire summer there? Probably not. Will we gather there as a family next summer? I hope so. Perhaps, the girls say, we should consider putting it on one of the vacation rental by owner sites. That will take some thought on my part.

I’ll return next summer. I’ll have the dock put out and the pontoon brought out of storage. I even thought that I could put a trolling motor on the little fishing boat and actually do some fishing. The winter will give me time to think about it. Then next summer, I’ll return, at least for a while, to just “be” at the lake.