At The Lake | Life on the Left Coast

During my trip to Ontario this past summer, I spent some time in cottage country at a place that is near and dear – a place I have visited since I was 8 months old – a long time. But I hadn’t been back for many years and it turned out to be something of a memory pilgrimage. I returned home with rekindled memories and a lot of new ones to sustain me.

My maternal grandparents bought the vacation property seventy years ago, in 1948. They were 50 years old at the time, living in Windsor, Ontario, the 3 youngest of their 7 children still at home when, as the story goes, my grandmother saw an ad in the church newsletter for a property for sale in central Ontario, 10 miles from the town of Minden. In those days it would have been quite a hike to get there from Windsor, long before the days of Highway 401. The property was 150 acres with a private lake, frontage on two other lakes, extensive woodland, an old farmhouse and a few cabins. A little piece of paradise. The story also goes that when the deal went through they danced around their living room at home – happy, happy.

For the first 15 years of my life I spent every summer there, hanging out with my cousins and being co-parented by the Aunts. There were 15 cousins although not everybody came up regularly. Each family had their own cabin – in those early years there was no electricity, no running water, the heat came from wood stoves and night time was the time of kerosene lamps and Coleman lanterns. “Mrs. Murphy” was down the path, out back. My memories of those childhood days are for me, the happiest of times. We spent our days running around outside, swimming, rowing, sailing, building intricate cities in the sand on the beach, campfires on the point complete with marshmallows and songs, weekly horseback riding, a long walk to the local lakeside store after dinner for 5 cent cones and a small brown paper bag of penny candy. My cousins and I would spend hours on elaborate role playing games and once a summer, we’d put on plays, or carnivals and charge the parents to attend.

The Aunts would take turns making supper for the brood, or making heaps of sandwiches, watermelon and Kool Aid to deliver down to the beach for lunch. I guess we must have all sounded alike: if one of us would shout out up the bank “MOM!!”, you could count on 2 or 3 Aunts calling back in response. My Aunt Paulie always drove a big station wagon and would pile us all into the back for the trip along the dirt roads to town (what seatbelts?) where we’d go on a jaunt to the movies at the tiny Beaver Theatre. The Uncles would show up from the city from time to time.

Of course, there was drama going on all around us – still is. It’s a big family, after all. But those oblivious childhood days are so clear and happy in my own memories, a wonderful gift – oblivious is great.

Later, all grown up, I continued to go to the lake sporadically in my twenties, then more often as I brought my own children there. By then we young mothers had better equipped houses to stay in – no more hauling buckets of water or cooking on wood stoves and Coleman burners, as our mothers had done. But I hadn’t been back for a very long time – 20 years give or take. This summer I finally returned.

For 8 days this summer I walked the land, stared at the views, canoed around the shore, swam in the lake and feasted on the sights and memories. Me being me I was drawn into the forest – a different forest from the ones I’m used to now, filled with a mix of huge oaks, maples and my very favourite, birch. Every morning I spent hours in the woods walking the 150 acres, sometimes going to places I’d never been before.

I was astonished to find that the cabin my family stayed in when I was really little is still standing. Over 70 years old and appears to be balancing on a rock. It hasn’t changed a bit since the days I stayed in it way back when. No, I take that back. Twenty five years ago, or so, there was a major renovation. An extension cord was run down the bank from the big cottage providing electricity to the cabin and with it a refrigerator instead of an ice box and electric light at night. This may not be to code.

The lake is quiet – no motor boats allowed. The noisiest thing on the lake is the paddle boat – itself a relic I was surprised to see still there and still afloat. It has its own history, including the memorable incident that spawned the ‘duh’ rule – no more late night boat rides.

Not much else has changed. The family has protected the property intact. Aside from the old unchanged cottage, the other buildings have been replaced or renovated over the years, but the essence of the place remains the same. I hung around The Old House for awhile, peering into the windows. This was where I brought the kids and stayed with my mother for so many years – years that also saw visits by good friends, who also became family there. I’m not there anymore but the place remains with me still. As are the people who are no longer with us who inhabit that space of memory. The word love comes to mind.

The Old House – The cottage I used to stay in with my own kids when they were young

For the first time in 9 years I hung out with my brother, who lives in Korea but spends time every summer at the lake. I hadn’t seen him since I lived in Asia. I saw some of my cousins who were there at the time of my visit, most I hadn’t seen in a couple of decades. Some have settled and made their homes close by, one has winterized his cabin and since retirement lives there all year round, a lifelong dream of his. To my eyes everybody is exactly the same. The funny thing is how much some of us now physically resemble our ancestor relatives. This one looks like his father, that one looks like Grandma, this one looks like an Aunt, another resembles a cousin.

I looked at the smiles and heard the laughter and shared old memories and I can still see the little cousins in those faces even though we are in our 60’s now or heading in that direction. We may all “be” the same, but our bodies are all too human and there is no mistaking the passage of time as the organ recital discussions have already begun. Invariably conversations lead to this hip or that knee or this ailment or that illness, sharing the benefits of this vaporizer over that one, and the CBD capsules and salves for this ache or that pain. Time passes, we’re all just along for the ride. Some of us have become grandparents as our own children now have kids of their own – a new generation of little cousins starts to appear.

I look around at who is there and who is gone and a thought occurs to me. The thing is, we are The Elders in the family now. Good grief.