I swept up the remaining crumbs from breakfast that hid under the table and four chairs in the small cottage. By small, I mean that if I had two brooms, one in each hand, stretched out, I would be able to touch the opposing walls. The single room doubled as a kitchen and bedroom, smaller than many bunkies that I’m sure were scattered across Lake Kawagama.
This would be our last visit to this cottage, and in truth, I may have only been there as many times as I could count on one hand. Strange, really, as it is a family cottage. I had found out this morning, via email, that the cottage had finally been sold, after being on the market over a year. It made this already planned trip bittersweet. When I first stepped foot at this place, ten years ago, I wasn’t married and so visiting on my own I didn’t leave much of a footprint. Over the years, our expanding brood growing to five plus dog, it sometimes felt as though we outgrew the tiny space. We were visitors, converging on my mom and stepdad’s place once a summer. With them sleeping in the only bed, we would erect a tent or blow up a mattress in the screened in gazebo to comfortably spend the night. They had bought the cottage and land in 2004, a couple of years before Caleigh was born, and so it didn’t have the nostalgia that went with many cottages that had belonged to families over decades. When I say we had outgrown the space, it was literally a conversation piece each time we were on our way up the highway (where will we sleep? will there be room? do we drive them crazy?) And yet each time I arrived, a sense of absolute peace fell over me. A sense of simplicity. All because of the smallness, yet mightiness, of this cottage.
This morning, with Tom and the kids down at the lake, I had the cottage to myself for some time before joining them for a morning swim. I cleaned the dishes at a sink that offers a most serene view. The outdoor sink is situated on the raised porch such that while doing dishes you can imagine yourself in a tree house. Your view at eye level is simply the trees. Off the porch, below you, is the outdoor shower. This shower is unique in that it offers nothing between you and nature around you. With no protection from spying eyes neither, only the most daring do so in front of others or you would wait for a moment where you have it to yourself.
Dishes cleaned and dried, I brought them inside to finish cleaning up. As someone who doesn’t necessarily enjoy cleaning, tidying up this cottage is a pleasant task. Its quaintness makes it not only easy but enjoyable. A sense of accomplishment quickly takes over. Make the bed, turn around, and wipe down the kitchen table. Another half turn and I can arrange the dishes on the open shelves. Everything just so, everything in its place. A small slice of perfection.
The night before, with Maggie asleep in the bed, the rest of us moved to the gazebo. With a bag of tortilla chips in one hand and a deck of cards in the other, I quickly shot down the whines of disappointment over not being able to play Angry Birds, our kids latest addiction on the iPad. Instead, we played first a game of ‘Go Fish’ and then Tom taught them how to play War. The laughter, the giggles, the cheeky smiles, the shrieks of laughter as they beat both Tom and me – fair and square – will remain a memory fixed in my mind for years to come. No electronics. No arguments. Just good old fashioned fun over a deck of cards. Again, simplicity.
After cards, with the tent forgotten at home, we all set up in the single room. Caleigh and Blake on the floor, covered in blankets. Tom, Maggie, and I in the bed. Quickly asleep, we were kept comfortable with a breeze off the lake that kept the cottage cool at night. At some point it became four of us in the bed, as Blake snuggled in between Maggie and Tom. Later still Tom abandoned the bed (or maybe Blake in his sleep had kicked him out) and ended up on the floor with Caleigh. As the sun came up, it was quite fitting that we would all get in the bed together and just lay quietly, telling one another about our dreams, if only for a couple of minutes. Simplicity.
As I arranged the last few dishes and smoothed out the comforter on the bed, it was sad to take a last look around the tiny cabin. My eyes settled on a blue, leather-bound book with the word “JOURNAL” inscribed in gold on the front. With a smile I opened it up and read through the last ten years of memories my mom and stepdad had recorded. The trees they had felled after buying the property. The installation of the dock. The improvements to the cottage. The friends who had visited. The memorable meals. The bears and deer who had made for fascinating sightings. The stories of Carter, who spent his last couple of summers on the lake, chasing sticks into the lake and squirrels up trees. The telling of our family history, a blended family, as their grandchildren were added and introduced to Lake Kawagama. All of these tales told a story of a cottage that while wasn’t in our family for long, had surely made an impact on the hearts and minds of those who stayed there.
I will miss this cottage. I will miss the simplicity. It is a value so ingrained in my heart that I vow to bring it to our own family cottage that we are building. It will be a little bigger, yes. However, now it will be built with every intention to keep it in the grain that cottages should be. An escape from a world dependant on technology. An escape from a world where televisions replace board games. An escape from a world where cars replace walking shoes. An escape from a world where family life can become chaotic and hectic, running from appointment to errand to activity…and the simple pleasure of just talking – connecting – is lost. An escape TO the world of cottaging…family, connection, nature, and simplicity.
The Deck.
The View.
A sink that makes me want to do dishes.
Remnants of War the next morning
Even the towel holder fits in, made from a birch tree.
A Boy & His Shower.
dr andrea ryan 