Cottage time … and time again

I am floating, suspended in the deep green, cool, clean water. Drifting. My body relaxed, head back, ears submerged in the water muting out any sounds other than the quiet of the lake. There is no other body of water where I have passed so many idle hours. Lazing on an inner tube, extremities dangling languidly into the water. Plunging into its refreshing embrace on a hot day. Swimming leisurely along the shore.

Little Straggle Lake.

I have been coming to this little lake my whole life. Literally. My parents owned the cottage before I was born so my first trip was as a baby. My husband and I now have the cottage on the neighbouring lot and my brother has taken on the responsibility of the original family cottage from my Dad. Our two-cottage family compound sits on the shore of this little lake.

You’d be hard pressed to find it on a map, but for our family, the lake is the compass of our summers. When I catch my first glimpse of the lake as we drive in on the dusty gravel road, I can’t resist greeting the lake out-loud, “Hello Little Straggle.”

Every time.

Opening the car door upon arrival, my lungs fill deeply with the clean cottage air. The refreshing earthiness and tangy pine scents set you immediately into cottage mode. Then our attention turns to the lake, the first comment inevitably, “The water looks low this year.” Or high as the case may be. Down at the dock, dressed in our bathing suits, someone always asks “What’s the water like?” Growing up, my Dad’s answer was the same every summer, never one to miss an opportunity for a clever retort.

“It’s wet.”

Later in the summer, we stand on the dock and look straight down to the rocks at the bottom and declare with awe, “Look how clear the water is.” A few feet from the dock is where the majestic blue heron flies across the lake and loons emerge from under, the water dripping effortlessly off their patterned feathers.

On almost a daily basis, we inspect the ripples or choppiness of the lake. “It’s so flat” is generally code for “It’s time for a ski.” Or in the evening, a serene lake invites you for a paddle board ride, the shoreline trees reflected on the still surface.

This commentary centred on the lake repeats year after year. Most cottage pastimes do. For me, I have the special joy of watching my daughter repeat the same cottage rituals of my childhood.

Our cottage has filled up with crafts she made at the community centre day program just as I did as a child. The highlight of the experience, as always, is the popsicle at the end of the morning. She took trips to the marina for ‘penny’ candy, though in my day the blackballs and gummies were actually a penny. The regatta ribbons are now medals and the pile grows larger with family members over the generations participating in the annual event – land events in the morning and water events in the afternoon.

A paddle boat ride to the tiny island, lovingly dubbed Blueberry Island, is an early summer tradition. Kids monitor the few scraggly bushes, and when the berries are ripe for picking, most are eaten on the spot. Another adventure is to navigate the shallow canal to neighboring Big Straggle Lake to visit Big Island and its infamous “jumping rocks”. The solid rocks are unchanged over the decades, though the perception of height shifts as you grow taller.

The swimming, splashing and playing in the lake occupy the sunny days. When I was a kid, we had an assortment of air mattresses, inner tubes and dinghies. With my brother and cousins we would wage war trying to capsize and occupy each other’s floatation device. My daughter and her cousins play shark tag, have underwater tea parties and perform endless somersaults in unison. No matter the decade, kids at the cottage invent endless water activities to stretch the imagination and energy of youth.

“Quick! The waves are coming. Jump in! Jump in!”

Rainy day activities help pass the time waiting for sunshine to return. My brother and I would hole up in the cottage, cross legged on the floor, playing Sorry and Mastermind. Now with two cottages side by side, the cousins scamper back and forth arms filled with board games or a deck of UNO cards.

My Dad had certain items in the cottage he labeled “sacred objects”. These objects never left the cottage. You could count on them to be there. Year after year. It’s the trusty pie cutter, its tip broken, that comes out every summer to slice the pies from the local store. It’s the old Blue Jays tuque or cozy sweater that’s always there when you need it on a chilly fall day. A favourite baseball cap. These items are worn. Absolutely. But they are part of the cottage landscape.

A cottage tradition.

While my Dad’s cottage has been somewhat refreshed, the backbone of the cottage is unchanged. It is still a place of “sacred” traditions. It’s where the familiar is relived year after year. Nostalgia merges with the present.

“When we were kids, we didn’t have all those floating docks.” My brother tells his kids. “There was only one narrow dock. It was crowded.”

“And there was no screened in porch either.” I try to impart a little cottage history to the kids. This porch has hosted countless loud family gatherings over the years.

“We would eat outside with the mosquitos,” my brother adds. We shake our heads. How did we do that?

The extra dock pieces and enclosed porch are small improvements. Comforts I truly appreciate as an adult. But things don’t really change at the cottage.

At the core, it’s the same.

You lounge on the dock. Guess the time by the sun passing overhead. Read a book. Cool down in the water. Let the hot sun dry you off, listening to the leaves rustling along the shore. Repeat.

The summer weeks pass as mosquitoes turn to horse flies, wildflowers blossom and fade, and the water level of the lake goes down.

A perfectly toasted marshmallow, carefully rotated round and round over the glowing orange embers of a smouldering campfire, is as gooey sweet today as when I was 8.

Timeless.

Sun. Nature. Unhurried family time. Relax you’re at the lake.

Little Straggle Lake.

My greeting ritual is reversed on the way out, less excited, but notably more relaxed. “Good bye Little Straggle.”

See you next year.