One week ago today in the early morning hours, I was scurrying around doing the last minute things on the to-do list, getting ready for departure to points north. Some of you might say that I'm pretty far north as it is, but this was farther north, namely in the middle of Michigan where there are lakes abounding. This particular lake to which I was heading happens to have on its shore a lovely, straight-from-the-sixties era cottage. It turned out to be my dream-come-true cottage. So much like the one where I stayed as a child with one of my friends (only much bigger and better), with the full screened porch across the front where we played cards and board games under the yellow bug light until her mom would send us off to bed in the loft that we reached by climbing a ladder, giggling and talking until we drifted off to sleep with the sounds of crickets and frogs and the occasional owl singing a lullaby.
Oh, look! There he is, sitting on the dock keeping the gray boards free of Canada goose poop!
There were so many nooks and cozy little spots in which one could relax, unwind, drink a steaming cup of tea, read a book, nap or just look out onto the beautiful water and watch water-skiers fly by. This corner was my favorite spot. The air was chilly, so we wrapped up in soft afghans and sipped that hot tea.
Sometimes the sky looked like this, with a few patches of blue peeking through the overcast sky.
Mostly it was like this, with light rain falling sporadically.
(Click on the pic to see what the dot is.)
Many cottages (some fancy and modern, some rustic) dotted the shoreline, with boats and rafts tied to every dock. I even saw a couple of them for sale which got me excited, but, alas, when I looked at them online, they weren't remotely anything like my dream cottage. Too modern.
On Sunday, the last full day of our visit, the sun started peeking out a little more and we went for a ride in the cottage rowboat. The captain of our ship (who was also our lovely hostess) proudly rowed us around the entire lake perimeter. I felt like a lazy sluggard while she manned the oars. I'm not sure she trusted us unskilled rowers with them (and rightly so, in my case), preferring to maintain her leisurely and smooth rhythm to see us safely around the shore.
It was the perfect weekend and I only had to wait forty-three years between my childhood lake cottage experience and this one. I hope it won't be another forty-three years until the next one. I don't know if I can even wait three.