Summertime, and the living is … bifurcated. Good word, no? Divided into two branches or forks, city and country. We have a cottage, and yes, we are lucky to have it. Most people can barely afford one residence in Southern Ontario, let alone two. But I hasten to tell you that our country house is not in Muskoka, or Georgian Bay, or Haliburton. It is not a many bedroomed affair, with a boathouse and a tennis court, or a long lawn rolling down to the lake. It is relatively modest cabin at the north end of a beautiful but unassuming lake, three hours north of Toronto, and water accessible only.

 

We built it on family land, two large concessions purchased by John’s grandfather some 50 years ago. Legend has it that he either bought it for next to nothing, won it in a poker game, or maybe shot a man. The first is explanation is most likely. He and his two daughters and their families camped out there for the first few years. Then a cabin was built, and, as is often the case, the families quarreled, and another cabin was built. That second cabin now belongs to John’s sister and her two daughters. John and I decamped some 20 years ago, and built our own place across the small bay. We did it ourselves, with a budget of $75,000 on a line of credit we only recently paid off. So it’s not the Taj Mahal, although our friends call it the Taj Mahollavy (combination of our last names – haha our friends are witty.)

 

While we may not have a games room, or en suite bathrooms, we do have a septic system, a sauna, and a nice big dock. There’s a fine Stanley outboard that gets us in and out of there, and a spiffy catamaran dinghy I bought John for his 50th birthday. There are no shops and restaurants, but there is a beach, and a little gem of a golf course in the narrows. In terms of wildlife, there are loons, and bass and pickerel, and deer and the occasional bear. And mosquitoes and black flies and horse flies and wasps.

 

Speaking of WASPs, it is, as mentioned, not really the G&T and driving loafer crowd’s kind of lake. There are no helicopter pads, no Goldie and Kurt nor Cindy and Randy. It’s a hoser lake, and I say that with love in my heart. Sure, there are doctors and lawyers lurking in the woods, but you’re just as likely to meet folks who drive Hemis and wear T-shirts that read “BEER: IT’S NOT JUST FOR BREAKFAST ANYMORE.” And those are the women.

 

It is, quite simply, the cottage. The place that you go every weekend, loading up the car, battling hours of traffic, loading and unloading the boat, swatting bugs, forgetting the ice, finding mice in the cutlery drawer (why, mice? Why?), constantly cleaning and repairing and painting everything that doesn’t move, and hoping everything that DOES move is not a bear. It’s a lot of work, and it’s not for everyone. Sometimes I even think it’s not for me. But then you turn off the lights, and wander down to the shore, and hear the loons and see the stars, and you realize that it’s all worth it.

 

Have a wonderful long weekend, wherever you spend it.

Photo Courtesy of Michael Leckman
Photo Courtesy of Michael Leckman

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