Today, I am missing the cabin, our old family place on beautiful Batchawana Bay on the Canadian Lake Superior Shore.
Batchawana Bay, Ontario. One of my favorite places in the world.
Normally, we would be packing our coolers, stuffing our suitcases, and buying extra mosquito repellent and sunscreen. Last week we would have had the oil changed, car serviced, and the tires checked.
But not this year. The Corona-virus and our nation’s inability to control its spread have closed the Canadian Border to us.
I certainly understand this decision, but oh how I will miss the old place, that lovely bay, and the uninterrupted time together.
A view from our place of the Batchawana River and Bay.
We are off the technology grid. Our phones have no service. The cottage is without wifi or any internet connection.
We relax. We talk, play games, cook, read, nap–there is no set pace and minimal expectations.
And then there is the beauty of this place.
The cool breeze from the big lake.
The crystal clear water.
The night stars on the velvet sky.
But above all there are the memories. The times we spent as children, with our children, and now our grandchildren.
In a sandy bank, along the road to the old home place lives a prosperous and prolific woodchuck family. Members of their clan have lived there as long as I can remember, chewing the grasses and wild strawberries along the gravelly edges of the pavement.
Sunrise along the road.
The original burrow has been passed down through the years, starting with a great-great grandfather who warned his heirs of the dangers of moving away, encouraging them to dig beneath the protective walnut tree. He stressed the merits of staying in the same neighborhood and remaining vigilant of the cars, trucks, and tractors that rumble by.
But, oh, the arrogance of youth.
Some grandchildren met their maker under the decks of my brothers’ homes; a son came to a sudden end along the perimeter of the vegetable garden, while a stubborn sister was silenced homesteading beneath the old stone walls of the hay barn.
The west side of one of the old barns.
They should have listened to the wisdom of their elders.
Late summer I see the offspring every time I visit my mother. They are plump and healthy looking, scuddling into the grasses as I pass.
There was a prosperous colony there before I was born, and their descendants will likely thrive long after I am gone.
Their persistence and tenacity from generation to generation make me smile.
It’s a Fine Life
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I have always loved reading animal stories and imagining their life. My mother used to read “Peter Rabbit” to me. I read from a similar collection to our grandchildren at bedtime. Timeless little tales.
This was my favorite book as a child. I think it was in the book-of-the-month club my mom subscribed to. The little squirrel lives for a time in a dollhouse. What child hasn’t imagined that?
Dennis and I watched a darling little rabbit hippity-hop around the edges of the garden early this morning. Nervous he is not; nervous he definitely should be. He appears to be the only one left of his brood, his siblings obviously the victims of the ever-ready bunny hunters: coyotes, fox, hawks, or cats. As the hour progressed, he became bolder and bolder, venturing into the center of the yard to savor clover blossoms or leaping randomly to try out his newly discovered, athletic abilities.
One of the older rabbits who roam the neighborhood.
Taking my camera from its case I quietly slipped out the front door and through the picket gate to attempt a picture. No chance. He slipped back under the daylily canopies and the cool shadows of the hydrangea.
I am concerned about him; this is no McGregor’s garden, but our old calico cat (still surprisingly stealth at seventeen) has caused a quick end to many a young bunny, and the hawks, who often hide in the pine branches, would love a savory snack of this tiny one.
Jinx, while now an old cat, she is still amazing quick and agile.
Young Cottontail has made it to lunchtime, and he fearlessly nibbles the grass at the back of the yard. The squirrels (who could use a few more predators in my opinion) chase each other up and down the locust tree; they are cocky, plump buggers–nothing like sweet Peter and his gentle grazing and gazing.
Fearlessly, obliviously, joyfully he investigates our yard. His youthful exuberance has made our day.
I fear his cavalier hours on earth will probably be brief, but despite the hazards
For a week or so each summer, we are lucky enough to have a place to go to beat the heat and get away. It has always been the highlight of our family’s year.
When we were kids, the station wagon strained with the five of us children, a grandmother, two dogs, sleeping bags, fishing gear, and all kinds of caged energy and excitement. Once my dad’s tanned arm draped the driver’s side door, my mom’s sunglasses adorned her face, and we had wiggled into our places, we launched, listening to Ernie Harwell or the gravelly voice of Merle Haggard. Inching along, we left the humid world of corn fields and wheat stubble; just past Mt. Pleasant, the air began to thin and the lovely smell of northern pine forests began.
A late 1970s photo of our family place.
Our old log cabin sits on a river and protected sandy bay on the Lake Superior Canadian shore. Our maternal grandparents purchased the vacant property in the late 1930s, and our families have enjoyed it ever since.
Currently, many third and fourth generation cottage owners struggle to maintain, finance, and agree on what to do with older aging properties. So far, the nine families involved have worked things out pretty well, but caring for an aging vacation home is an exercise in love, not logic.
Our grandchildren are the fourth generation of young ones whose lips turn blue in the clear, icy water, whose little eyes faithfully watch their bobbers, whose necks are lined with black fly and mosquito bites. I realize how fortunate we are.
My cousins and I were the second generation of children to play on the beach.
Yes, times have changed. On many lakes in in our area, cottages have been sold, demolished, and replaced with gorgeous year-round-homes. The modest vacation dwellings that remain look out of place, hidden in the shadows of their fine, fresh neighbors.
It’s hard to imagine a new place. Would I miss the mustiness? The brown bats that flutter in the rafters? The snap of the mousetraps once lights are out?
Absolutely not.
But I would miss the wash tubs nailed on the sagging exterior, the familiar creak of the steps and floorboards, the sweet smell of my grandmother’s spices in the old kitchen cupboard.
When I was a toddler, my grandmother bathed me one of these old washtubs. I remember how cold it was but how loved I felt.
Family cottages are a nostalgic journey through the years: the cast-off dishes and jigsaw puzzles, the old record players and scratched vinyl. All reminders of our history.
At the cabin, I feel a connectedness to the past and an appreciation for the dear ones no longer here: my dad and grandfather’s favorite chair sits in the shady window, my uncle’s tools hang in the boathouse, my grandmother’s bread pans wait on a shelf.
We will miss the old place this year, but she will welcome our return next summer after we tame this pandemic.
A favorite view of the river as it empties into the bay.
And the discussions and plans for our family place will continue.
At least for now.
It’s a Fine Life.
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We bought one of these in a “tourist shop” when the kids were little. They had a blast swinging at mosquitos.
We bought one of these in a “tourist trap” when the kids were little. They had a blast swinging at mosquitoes.
Our kids also loved Mad-Lib books and had fun with them while traveling.
I’ve fallen in love again–I’m totally smitten, head-over-heels, crazy-punch-drunk in love with this little fellow: Zippy, our twelve week old Boston Terrier.
Sleeping Zippy. I love this picture.
For the last year, Dennis and I talked about another dog, and Snuggles (our first Boston we loved for many years) had paved a perfect path for another little short-haired darling.
With the shuttering of schools and many businesses, I am now working from home. I suddenly have the appropriate time to properly train and socialize a dog, and we starting looking. With the help of friends, we located a breeder, and now this rambunctious rascal is helping me survive the sadness of social distancing.
According to health experts, pets provide us many health benefits. I have visited many credible online resources and the psychological and physical benefit claims are pretty amazing.
On every site, increased activity is stated as a health benefit. Hmmmm. So far, I can’t say this is true for me. Yes, as soon as he starts sniffing, I am whisking him to the backyard for prompt pottying, but I find I spend much of my morning in pure-puppy-bliss just sitting on my couch with my little fellow tucked next to me. If I had a rocking chair, I swear I would be rocking him like a baby. I know that sounds crazy, but the serotonin release that comes from holding this little guy is similar to how I felt when rocking our babies. (AND the good news is that I am much more rested!)
This is our favorite activity
Stated again and again in the research is how pets bring joy and help to lessen loneliness. Yes, how lonely I have been during this time apart from my family, my friends, my co-workers, my students, and my community. I do feel better since Zippy entered my life. Definitely. He follows me around the house. He helps me pull weeds in the garden. He sleeps at my feet as I work and write. And he sniffs the flowers and watches the birds at the feeders, reminding me of the beauty around me.
(Here’s an odd claim that makes me laugh from the AKC website: having a dog makes you more attractive. Whaaat? Now that’s a stretch, a huge stretch, especially since I haven’t had an appointment with my hair dresser since early March.)
I think we are both lucky to have found each other, and I predict a great future for this relationship.
When Donny sang in 1972 “And they call it Puppy Love. ” I thought he was singing to me about my 7th grade crush. But, when I change the lyrics in the next section, he is crooning to sixty-something me about this love affair with Zippy.
“Oh I guess they’ll never know, how this old heart really feels, and why I love him so.”
Checking my Fitbit, I circle the track near our elementary school a few more times; the Little League Fields are still, the concession stand boarded, the dugouts empty. One baseball-capped woman throws a Frisbee over and over to her golden lab, who races again and again, back and forth, back and forth. The playground is childless, swing set seats hang on idle chains, the wind rippling the soccer field.
My friend Leeanne and I walk down the center of Main Street; town is eerily quiet. In the silence we notice the paint peeling around a storefront window and a squirrel’s high wire act. We hear a woodpecker, his persistence admirable, drilling high in an oak.
I feel this emptiness, grieve the loss of the togetherness and community we have always enjoyed in my hometown. I am off-balance, out-of-sync, persistently fragile.
Then three weeks ago, my husband spotted a bald eagle soaring above the neighborhood and lake. High in the sky, the signature white head came into view each time he circled our direction.
Photo by Frank Cone from Pexels During the 1960s and 70s, the Bald Eagle joined the endangered species list, its numbers dropping dangerously low from loss of habitat and use of DDT.
What an inspiring, powerful symbol of resilience and survival–just what I need to think about during this time of isolation and struggle.
As we sat around our dinner table sharing lunch and dinner during the summer months of our childhood, my dad reported regularly about the wildlife he saw while planting corn, cultivating the fields, raking hay, or completing one of the many jobs he and my uncle were responsible for.
Dad loved the woods, the wildlife, the fawns he would gently move to the side of the fields he was working. He respected the barn snakes, teaching us to never hurt them, that they controlled the rodents and other pests. He cherished the rare sightings of the many birds we now regularly see: Sand Hill Cranes, Blue Herons, Canadian Geese all were unusual, and he made continual note of them. But he never spotted an eagle; how pleased and encouraged he would be by the solitary figure perched in the tree across the lake.
Photo by Frank Cone from Pexels Through careful protection and conservation, the species is again thriving.
We too will survive this time of endangerment, and someday soon we will tell of the challenges and of our recovery.
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The amazing story of the US Rowing Team and the 1936 Olympic Race. It is one of my son’s favorite books.
I just finished reading this fictional story of homesteading in Alaska during the 1970s. The main character’s resilience and survival of not only the wilderness but an abusive situation is inspiring.
Another amazing survival story. I respect the author’s passion for becoming educated against all kinds of odds.
Yes, this new staying home and social distancing is an adjustment for all of us. Some of us life with a houseful of people; some of us live alone. Some of us live in tiny apartments; some of us live in spacious homes.
But, however, wherever, and with whomever we live, we find ourselves at times irritated, bored, and often opening the refrigerator door or reaching for the remote.
Here are a few ideas to help maintain even emotions during this difficult time.
Put on a playlist and dance. (It is so enjoyable to listen to songs of our youth, tunes we listened to over and over on the local AM stations.) There are many streaming options and it always seems to life my spirit. (plus it’s good for a cardiovascular health.)
Call a friend. (make a list of people you’ve been meaning to call, especially older relatives and friends.) When you find yourself becoming restless, work your way down the to-call-list.
Make a commitment tolearn something new. Foster your curiosity. Think about something you’ve always wanted to learn and check out instructional videos on YouTube. It could be a card game or a language. Maybe a craft or computer program. (Most of us have a box of craft projects to finish stashed in the back of a closet. This is a great opportunity to complete them.)
Get moving and get outside: Walk. Social distance properly and walk with a friend. Notice the bird songs. Smell some flowers. Look up at the clouds or the night sky.
If you live with others, schedule a daily time to play games. (Many of my friends are finding this the most enjoyable part of their day.)
Read agood book. (I know our libraries are closed right now, so search your shelves for something new or re-read an old favorite.)
Plan a future event. Look ahead a begin planning something to do when we are free of these restrictions: a vacation, a weekend with the grandchildren, a dinner party or barbecue with neighbors, even visiting an older relative. Start a list. Be specific. Plan the menu, and so on. This helps us feel hopeful and optimistic.
Conduct a 15 minute decluttering or deep cleaning of an area. (maybe the junk drawer, spice shelf, under the sink, bathroom vanity) Take a trash bag, set a timer, and GO!
Set a daily schedule. (I find this especially helpful and productive.)
Practice gratitude. Find three things to be thankful for each day. The research is clear on the positive benefits of establishing this mindset.
So this cake isn’t going to win any awards from professional judges. They would say things like “it didn’t get a good rise” or “it’s a bit doughy in the middle, isn’t it.” And I would have to nod and annoyingly say, “Yes, but that’s how my family likes it.”
This is the hands down, most requested dessert at family gatherings. It was my dad’s favorite dessert, so on Easter I remembered his sweet face as I frosted the cake. My niece even requested it for her wedding dessert table.
It is supereasy: no special ingredients; you don’t even need to use a mixer. And chances are, you might have everything you need right now in your refrigerator and pantry.
Preheat oven to 350
spray a 9×13 pan
In a large mixing bowl combine
2 Cups flour
2 Cups sugar
2 t baking soda
Add
2 eggs
One 20oz can of crushed pineapple (undrained)
Mix well and pour into pan. Bake for 30 minutes (until set)
For frosting:
1/2 Cup butter (softened)
8 oz Cream Cheese (room temperature)
Blend together well, then add 3 Cups powdered sugar
A few weeks ago, when the late winter temperature climbed to a breezy sixty, a post appeared on my Facebook feed. Traffic had stopped for a pair of beavers who were casually crossing a major street, heading towards the mill pond, just a block from our little downtown. This makes me smile.
A few years ago, I scoffed at a news story about a kayaker being attacked by a beaver. Seriously? Couldn’t the guy just slap his paddle on the water to frighten it? We often see them on the river up north, and their industry and hard work is evidenced by the sticks and logs felled by their gnawing. But I gained some new respect for their size last summer as we watched one swim past the pontoon, glide towards the shore, and climb from the water. It was huge—like a good-sized Labrador Retriever. It glared at us and began snacking on the reeds in the sand. Suddenly, I was glad I wasn’t in a kayak near this incredible hulk!
According to the National Geographic’s website, beaver colonies are present in nearly all areas of the country, mate for life, and can weigh sixty pounds. Beaver parents produce two to four kits annually and nurture them for two years. And my favorite fun fact: the early Native Americans described them as “playful and affable.” How lovely: good natured beavers.
The Wonderful World of Disney, appearing every Sunday night of our childhood, occasionally featured engaging documentaries of animal life: black bears, racoons, and wolves entertained and educated us. We watched a fascinating hour about beavers, complete with underwater shots of the tunnels into their lodge, the sounds of their communication, and the images of their family life within the twiggy mound
I have never seen one around the village, but perhaps I’ve never really looked. Is this current couple leaving the damp and darkness of their winter lodge to begin early construction on their summer place? More likely they are newlyweds, fresh from honeymooning in their parents’ adjoining apartment, ready to setup housekeeping. Are they eager to greet their first brood of young? Do they study chapters of their parenting books? How to sooth a fussy kit. How to encourage bark sharing. How to introduce fibrous food. And I can just imagine the young pair sending their first brood off to their neighborhood school to attend classes so important for their survival. With only two years to adulthood and independence, their coursework would be intense: alarm sounding and the proper slap of the tail; establishing life-long tooth care and sharpening; lodge and dam design and maintenance.
I’ve been watching for the duo on my many drives around the village and lake. I suspect they have settled comfortably in the wetlands near the mill project. Perhaps they are enjoying some fresh air and early spring sun as their young splash and dive around their new home place.
My dad loved to show the grandchildren newborn lambs and calves in the barn. He died several years ago, but this experience (and the photo my sister-in-law took capturing the joy on all three faces) is now part of their life story.
Can you remember the smell of your grandmother’s kitchen? The touch of your grandfather’s gentle hand on top of your head? Their smiles? These memories last a lifetime and can become an important building block in a child’s self-esteem.
I was very fortunate to spent time with both of my grandmothers, and our conversations and activities were amazingly different, yet equally important. In my primary years, my maternal grandmother taught me to add bacon grease to gingerbread cookies, to play a mean game of dominoes, to recycle and reuse. In my early adult years, my paternal grandmother taught me like dry white wine, to savor the moment, to appreciate a good pair of shoes.
I think about their love and their lessons daily as we build and nurture our relationships with our own grandchildren.
Five ideas and activities
When the grandchildren are visiting, we attempt to quiet what we are doing and focus on them. (be present, ask their ideas and opinions, and listen.)
We play age-appropriate family games regularly when they are here. We model the fun we can have in friendly competition. We put away our phones and technology and enjoy the time together.
Sometimes we teach them a special skill or create something together.
We often plan and fix a special meal with input and help from our grandchildren. (What they request is amazingly easy: hot dogs and beans, spaghetti and noodles, oatmeal)
We try to include them in doing something nice for someone else. We share our feelings about how good it feels to help others.
Remember that simple is okay, activities and time together doesn’t have to be expensive.
And be sure to take some pictures!!
It’s a Fine Life.
There are all kinds of themed Monopoly Games, but we have the classic.
Here is a themed Monopoly Game. If you click it, you will go to Amazon and see other options.
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