Tag: cottage

Summer Reflections: Closing the Cottage Experience

October 8, 2025

It is a bittersweet event. This past summer experienced record-high temperatures, resulting in lake conditions suitable for extended periods of comfortable swimming. Family visited, and friends came, to enjoy the water activities. As we near the end of the summer, the forecast indicates colder weather next week. Although we swam with our short wetsuits on this weekend, the water cooled us off, and our stay in the water was brief. But we kayaked every day when the lake was smooth as ice and went for walks in the back.

With the leaves falling, we saw much more sky than during the summer. We have giant maple trees around us. But now with much of the foliage falling, the ground was bathed in sunlight, and the leaves formed a thick, carpet-like cover. And there were no bugs, no mosquitoes, no ticks. Nevertheless, I still wore my tick-proof jacket and long pants for protection from nasty bugs, just in case.

I saw a massive fungus on an old and diseased tree; the fungus must be over a foot in diameter, with a yellowish color and parallel lines across its surface, making it artsy. While walking through the forest after leaf fall, we observed prominent burls, mushrooms, and lichens on the trees, which were readily apparent.  And I recognized the sounds of many birds, such as the black-capped chickadee, Canada geese, American crows, blue jays, and an app on my iPhone identified the yellow-rumped warbler. The loudest, of course, were the loons on the lake.

Crossing the large green pasture, we met three deer, looking at us. They always notice you before you see them. They hear the crunch of the leaves under our feet, while they remain quiet in their movements in the forest, avoiding attention from people passing by. And they always stand sideways with their heads turned, looking at us, waiting to see if we’re going to chase them or feed them. We stopped and took some pictures of them facing us sideways. I know the fellow who lives next to the pasture most of the year and feeds the deer. That is why they are friendly towards people.

Kayaking around the lake is a friendly affair; we always chat with people sitting on their decks. And there are the fishermen who talk about the number of fish caught that day. Yesterday, the surprising social event on the water was meeting three women standing in the water. They proudly announced that that day was a record for them in terms of being in the water this late in the season. I admired them for cheerfully chattering, but surely they were suffering the pain of standing in the cold water

But it was time to close the cottage despite the summer-like weather. All the neighbors were gone except a handful of fishermen on the lake.

Closing the cottage is a process that we have done many times, and it follows a routine. I unhooked the seats in the kayaks and pulled them up onto the shore, storing them upside down along with the windsurfers and canoes. I stored the seats and paddles in the storage hut. Covering the outdoor furniture with tarps was next, while Kathy cleared out the main fridge.

The final closing steps are moving all the stuff we take home to the boat and turning off the hot water tank and pump. My friend Jeff drains the water lines and adds antifreeze to the plumbing for winter.  And a local contractor pulls my floating dock around into quiet waters to protect it from breaking from the harsh winter ice.

The last activity is to place mouse poison around the cottage. Every ten years, there is a mouse invasion. We experienced it once and try to avoid it.

We drove the boat slowly to the marina, feeling the sun on our backs and watching the shore, one final enjoyment on the lake this year. Oh, and we’ll have to let the marina know that our propeller needs straightening; we had the misfortune of hitting a rock a week ago in the extremely shallow water resulting from the hot and dry summer.

Opening the Cottage

May 24, 2024

When I started walking to the boat, the president of the cottagers’ association stood at the edge of the marina parking lot with his huge dog, a malamut. He said they missed us at the pancake breakfast the day before. Instead of saying we never intended to attend, I said we were busy. He and the association have been advocating for a revised constitution, a subject with no interest to me but likely to be brought up during breakfast. The president is an earnest fellow working hard at being president, and I did not want to hurt his feelings. It takes a lot of work to revise a constitution. Preparing a pancake breakfast is also an ambitious undertaking for a group, giving him credit.

When the president’s boat arrived to return him to his cottage on the island, we went to our boat. The starting engine sputtered for a while, warming up. The battery in the boat usually runs down in a few weeks unless it starts up every few days, and our boat must have been in the water for weeks without running. The ride to the cottage was relaxing on the quiet water, allowing us to reacquaint ourselves with the cottages and the small islands along the way.

Arriving at the cottage dock, I did a quick double-take, seeing the floating dock paralleling the shoreline instead of being perpendicular to it. Docks are usually positioned like fingers reaching out into the lake, where the water is deeper than at the shore. There was no question in my mind that the dock floated sideways, moved by some storm, losing its anchors at the deep end. I knew then that my first task would be to fix the dock after landing.

 But surprises never come in single doses; inside the cottage, we came upon stacks of mice poo in the kitchen and storage areas where we leave cans and dry goods over the winter. We do not usually get mice over the winter at our cottage; we leave mice poison in the Fall. But one year out of ten, we get a mouse invasion.

Cleaning up mice poo called for a hand-held vacuum. Although we had one, we remembered that it died last year. So instead of sweeping the poo off the counters, we decided to wait until the next time we came out with a new vacuum. This is an example of the disadvantages of island property; one has to boat back to the mainland for items missing on an island.

While Kathy took the covers off the beds and chairs, I put on my bathing suit and goggles and went down to fix the dock. I paid a local handyman to take the floating dock to a quiet bay for the winter and return it in the spring. Whoever brought the dock back this time tied it up with one concrete block at the deep end, which did not have enough weight in our lake, protecting against the three-foot waves rolling against the shoreline in stormy weather.

 I dove into the fresh but bearable water to look for the tires that I filled with concrete to serve as weights, but I had no success. I’ll have to look again next time; there is no way the current would have pushed the two-hundred-pound weights far away. In the meantime, I pulled the single concrete block out to the deeper water, hoping no storm would materialize for a week, pushing the dock back to the shore.

After my swim fixing the dock, I joined Kathy at the cottage, and beyond the mice invasion, the cottage was clean. It was time to relax and eat or drink something, but there was nothing for lunch since we had just come up for a day to do some reconnaissance. Then I remembered the alcoholic beverages that we left there for the winter. Our American neighbor from New Jersey left me his special edition bourbon he made in Kentucky with his friends in 2022. It is a bottle of Maker’s Mark, Private Selection, called “Bobby’s Garage.” The name is from his garage, where he and his friends exercise every morning. It was the best ounce of bourbon I had ever tasted, especially after diving into the lake and fixing the dock.

While enjoying the drink, I called my neighbor two lots away to find out how the pancake breakfast went; I knew they had attended. Instead of answering me, she invited us for a glass of wine. An offer too good to pass up, but before visiting, I decided to sweep the decks clear of leaves and take the covers off the Adirondack chairs outside.

While I worked outside, Kathy grilled some chicken for a light dinner later. By five o’clock, we were ready to see our neighbors. They said perhaps fifteen people attended the breakfast; I thought that represented less than ten cottages out of the one hundred on the island. I felt sorry for the organizers for doing so much work for so few people.

It was time to leave, and armed with a list of items to bring back next time, we started the boat, and it sputtered again. I made a mental note to call the marina next week and ask if something is wrong with the fuel line.