Spring weather brings cabin-opening rituals
Ahhh Spring! The weather warms and the lake beckons, promising warm beaches, cool caressing water, long afternoons with friends on the deck, cocktails at sundown …. Hold on, not so fast. There is a lot to do before we get there.
The first trip out to the cabin in the spring is always a bit overwhelming. Pine needles and deer droppings litter the walkways, and the deck is strewn with willow leaves and branches. We rake, trim, sweep, mow, bag and burn. And sweat. Why is it that we never work this hard on our house in town?
Even though the sun is shining, the inside of the cabin is damp and cold. There is no running water until after a long grunt session under the deck involving pipes, and a nice, gritty puddle under the kitchen sink. Something to do with filters, and “couldn’t find a towel.”
Mice have been busy nibbling and pooping in every conceivable (and inconceivable) spot in the cupboards. How do they get inside the lidded coffee pot? Every bag, package and box of every food item has a little corner chewed off. They didn’t finish eating anything; they just tasted everything! I guess that’s why Grandma never left any food in the cabin over the winter. Huh. I just thought she liked things tidy.
This has been Gram’s cabin since 1950, and it’s never been closed or opened without her – until this year. Things just don’t seem the same. I know there’s something up with the fridge. As I plug it in, I remember, oh yeah, aren’t the doors supposed to be propped open? It seems that the precariously tilted ice tray that we used last fall has slipped, and now… I had forgotten what happens when you don’t leave it propped. Oh. Uh huh - opening the fridge refreshed my memory. Bleech. (Why does that happen?)
Outside is beautiful! It feels like it’s at least 85, but the trusty deck thermometer is only registering 71. We are wiped out and besides, the neighbors are all beginning to gather around the big bonfire we all share. Beers in hand, (sorry kids, the mice peed in the marshmallow bag) we wander over to catch up on the winter gossip.
A few cabins in the bay have changed owners, and eyes pop when prices are revealed. Rumor has it that a new development is going in up in the woods down the way. (No lakefront? What’s the point?) The little store will be open year-round now, probably to serve all the new homes. The elders remember when they used to put a pool table and coffeepot in it for the locals to hang out in during the winter. Everyone is still healthy, no major catastrophes. All are happy the sun is back.
The kids have their “back-to-the-lake” routine, too. They check out the trampoline, which seems no worse for the wear. Long-lost GameBoys and videos are discovered and old friendships rekindled. No matter how cold the water is, they always end up in the lake. Yeah, fully clothed. They drip their way inside to change into anything that might have been left behind from last summer, which of course, is way too small. The boys run around for the rest of the day in capris and belly shirts, but they don’t care. Hey, it’s the lake!
Sunday evening, time to pack up and head home. “Prairie Home Companion” on the radio keeps us awake for the drive. Our in-town street looks exceptionally tidy; the neighbors’ homes look perfect from the attention they got all weekend. Lawns are tidy, flowers planted, projects complete. Funny thing – ours looks just like it did when we left.
We pile out of the car exhausted, dried sweat and dirt on our clothes, smelling of bonfire smoke, and the happiest we’ve been all winter. Spring has returned, and with it brought back our beloved lake place.