A week from now I will be heading back to a place I have not visited in a very long time. My best guess is that I was around ten years old the last time I stood on the deck of my Grandparent’s cabin looking out at Fox Lake.
It is a small cabin, red painted wood with white shudders. A screened in porch on the left side of the cabin and a deck, also painted red, on the right. Standing on the deck you can see the lake, small to be sure but just large enough to be categorized as one. The dock that I remember extends several feet into Fox, and has three boats tied to its metal posts – the old speed boat, the metal fishing boat, and the tiny Blue Gill (as it is affectionately called.) Life jackets, fishing rods, and bait buckets wait patiently to be used, along with the random ore, anchor and net.
Fox, although small, is busy with life. Loons call out every evening as the sun sets. Each afternoon the sunfish bite from the lines cast from the end of the dock. Occasionally an otter stops by to see if anyone left the catch of the day still attached to the boat before cleaning. (Incidentally, and to the chagrin of many, the otter did indeed find such a catch one late afternoon.) Turtles and snakes pop up with frequency. Walleye and Northern Pike are the goal of each fisherman (and woman) who set out in the metal boat.
The inside of the cabin holds a strange hodgepodge of furnishings which prove to be very fitting for both my Grandfather and Grandmother. The eclectic blend of colors and fabrics soon becomes normal and some how matches the experience of a vacation at the lake. I have heard that since my days at Fox a window air conditioning unit has been installed. However, the biggest advancement in cooling I ever saw enter the screen door was a ceiling fan that hung above the kitchen table.
My memory recalls my Grandma cooking up a meal in the kitchen while my Grandpa could be found out fishing or tinkering down in the dirt cellar below the cabin, nestled in the side of the hill. (Sadly, only part of this memory is to be re-lived. Grandma has since gone on…however Grandpa will no doubt still be fishing or in the musty earth below.)
Mornings begin with breakfast sitting out on the deck at a picnic table. The day often concludes around the kitchen table with a game of Yahtzee or “I Doubt It.” What happens between these two events is to be determined. Many afternoons my siblings, cousin, and I could be found building what can only be described as elaborate. Beneath the deck the five of us would combine our efforts to construct the most kick ass fort known to man. There should have been blueprints for the thing. We would sit around an old tree stump and discuss the important matters of the summer like who was going to be president of our club, and who was going to make a run to the kitchen to get us all pop. After we dismissed ourselves from these meetings the tetherball tournament began.
On occasion a group of us would make the journey into downtown Detroit Lakes. Whether for a July 4th parade, the DL baseball game, or to hit the latest sale at Norby’s, going into town was not to be missed. Big Detroit, a lake of considerable size, is the local beach and amusement for families. Many times I slid down the metal slide that had been anchored to the bottom of the lake. Each time I did, no matter how careful and deliberate I was, I stubbed my toe on the cement blocks that kept the “fun” slide in place.
The Lake is a place of memories and I wonder as I prepare to return how things will be. I assume that Fox will look much smaller, as will the cabin and everything in it. Perhaps I will remember more as I open the creaky screen door and enter the kitchen. I hope that I do not forget things as they were, that my memories will not be tainted by the reality of the present. I also hope that new memories will be made- not foreign to the past but flavored appropriately by it.
P.S. I forgot to mention the trademark “biffy” (aka: outhouse) at the cabin. Perhaps this is not such a strange thing, the cabin is old after all. But one can not deny, even in the first days of the cabin, that an outhouse that sits three at once is strange. Yes, that is right- three “seats” for one to choose from, or three spots for three eager fishermen (not women…women would not do such a thing) to conclude their afternoon on the lake.
It is a small cabin, red painted wood with white shudders. A screened in porch on the left side of the cabin and a deck, also painted red, on the right. Standing on the deck you can see the lake, small to be sure but just large enough to be categorized as one. The dock that I remember extends several feet into Fox, and has three boats tied to its metal posts – the old speed boat, the metal fishing boat, and the tiny Blue Gill (as it is affectionately called.) Life jackets, fishing rods, and bait buckets wait patiently to be used, along with the random ore, anchor and net.
Fox, although small, is busy with life. Loons call out every evening as the sun sets. Each afternoon the sunfish bite from the lines cast from the end of the dock. Occasionally an otter stops by to see if anyone left the catch of the day still attached to the boat before cleaning. (Incidentally, and to the chagrin of many, the otter did indeed find such a catch one late afternoon.) Turtles and snakes pop up with frequency. Walleye and Northern Pike are the goal of each fisherman (and woman) who set out in the metal boat.
The inside of the cabin holds a strange hodgepodge of furnishings which prove to be very fitting for both my Grandfather and Grandmother. The eclectic blend of colors and fabrics soon becomes normal and some how matches the experience of a vacation at the lake. I have heard that since my days at Fox a window air conditioning unit has been installed. However, the biggest advancement in cooling I ever saw enter the screen door was a ceiling fan that hung above the kitchen table.
My memory recalls my Grandma cooking up a meal in the kitchen while my Grandpa could be found out fishing or tinkering down in the dirt cellar below the cabin, nestled in the side of the hill. (Sadly, only part of this memory is to be re-lived. Grandma has since gone on…however Grandpa will no doubt still be fishing or in the musty earth below.)
Mornings begin with breakfast sitting out on the deck at a picnic table. The day often concludes around the kitchen table with a game of Yahtzee or “I Doubt It.” What happens between these two events is to be determined. Many afternoons my siblings, cousin, and I could be found building what can only be described as elaborate. Beneath the deck the five of us would combine our efforts to construct the most kick ass fort known to man. There should have been blueprints for the thing. We would sit around an old tree stump and discuss the important matters of the summer like who was going to be president of our club, and who was going to make a run to the kitchen to get us all pop. After we dismissed ourselves from these meetings the tetherball tournament began.
On occasion a group of us would make the journey into downtown Detroit Lakes. Whether for a July 4th parade, the DL baseball game, or to hit the latest sale at Norby’s, going into town was not to be missed. Big Detroit, a lake of considerable size, is the local beach and amusement for families. Many times I slid down the metal slide that had been anchored to the bottom of the lake. Each time I did, no matter how careful and deliberate I was, I stubbed my toe on the cement blocks that kept the “fun” slide in place.
The Lake is a place of memories and I wonder as I prepare to return how things will be. I assume that Fox will look much smaller, as will the cabin and everything in it. Perhaps I will remember more as I open the creaky screen door and enter the kitchen. I hope that I do not forget things as they were, that my memories will not be tainted by the reality of the present. I also hope that new memories will be made- not foreign to the past but flavored appropriately by it.
P.S. I forgot to mention the trademark “biffy” (aka: outhouse) at the cabin. Perhaps this is not such a strange thing, the cabin is old after all. But one can not deny, even in the first days of the cabin, that an outhouse that sits three at once is strange. Yes, that is right- three “seats” for one to choose from, or three spots for three eager fishermen (not women…women would not do such a thing) to conclude their afternoon on the lake.
