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Cottage Life

Whether you call it a "cottage," a "camp," a "cabin," or a "summer home," one thing is certain: life is good. If you’ve been following my column for any length of time, you’ll know that my own financial position is somewhat modest, currently.
Whether you call it a "cottage," a "camp," a "cabin," or a "summer home," one thing is certain: life is good.

If you’ve been following my column for any length of time, you’ll know that my own financial position is somewhat modest, currently. Obviously, I am not able to afford a camp of my own right now.

My parents considered it a couple of times over the years, but always decided against owning a second home, especially one that they could not foresee getting more than a few weeks’ use each year. (Despite the fact that I could foresee using it much, much more frequently!)

So, my experience at camp has been somewhat limited.

Still, I do have some fond recollections of spending time during the summer holidays at a relative’s or a friend’s camp.

My earliest is of Uncle Ray’s camp at Carpin Beach. It was the second-last camp on the dead end road up from the public beach. If I remember correctly — and this may not be correct — it was turquoise in colour. I do remember an old, 50s-style tv mounted just above the eaves trough at the corner of the roof, overlooking the driveway, which had their name painted on the screen.

The beach really wasn’t much of a beach, in that there wasn’t a lot of room to lay a blanket down and lie in the sun. Neither was the bottom all that inviting, being rather soft and mucky, with some near-shore weeds infested with leeches. The trick was to run through the mucky, weedy bit as fast as one could and get to where the water was about chest deep and cooler, and where there were (hopefully) no leeches.

I managed to avoid them, although some of my cousins were not so lucky. I learned, from their experience, that leeches hurt, and can only be removed by sprinkling them liberally with salt, or touching them with a lit cigarette. Yanking them off forcibly is not the best method!

Some of my "camp" memories really weren't actually camps. Every summer my mother and I would travel down to Flint, Michigan with my grandparents to visit my great-aunt and -uncle. Several times we would stretch the trip out for an extra few days by staying at a motel on the Lake Huron shore.

For a young boy, this was as good as a camp. There was a playground and, of course, a beach. I recall getting tanned so deeply — everywhere except what my bathing suit covered — during those stays that the my picture could have been used for the Coppertone ads.

As an aside, I our think we screwed ourselves when we gave Michigan back to the Americans. The Michigan shore of Lake Huron is beautiful, and has much nicer beaches than our own, rocky coastline along Georgian Bay.

Over the years I have been invited to spend a night or two at the camps of various friends, and I always enjoyed myself immensely.

There’s just something about getting away from it all, having absolutely nothing to do except relax, eat, swim, go boating and then relax some more that I find is almost a spiritual experience. It certainly is an opportunity to refresh and recharge after a long year of working or studying.

My friend Kathryn’s parents had a lovely camp our on Bluewater Bay. It had a lovely beach, with a nice, warm, shallow swimming area for the kiddies, although the water beyond that was strewn with boulders the size of small cars. Being as exposed as it was to Superior, the waves were often rather large, and diving off the mostly-submerged boulders into the incoming waves was a popular pastime.

The rocks did make launching the sail boat a little difficult at times, however. I recall one time when we tried, unsuccessfully, to guide the boat out beyond the rocks. Unfortunately, we were lifted up with the swells only to have our feet dashed against the boulders.

Still, we had a great time.

Warren’s parents had a camp further in at Goulais Bay. The water there was quite shallow for about a hundred yards out from shore, so swimming was never much of a problem and the water was usually bath-water warm.

One of the nice things about their cottage was that it was winterized, and the road was maintained year-round. We went out for New Year’s Eve one year, and it was spectacular!

We spent the day skating and snowmobiling on the ice, and the evenings sitting in front of the fireplace.

(Come to think of it, that was probably one of the last times I really enjoyed winter. as I get older, I find that winter has lost its appeal.)

My friend Jennie lived with her mother in a year-round home on the Neebish Channel. It was a beautiful A-frame design, with a spectacular view, and an idyllic setting. In the summer canoeing and swimming would be followed by a barbeque dinner; in the winter drinks in front of the stone fireplace watching the sun set preceded dinner.

Another aspect of "camping" is, of course, summer camp. I have been both camper and counsellor at various summer camps. I also have, in the past, sat on the board for a local church camp and the local chapter of the Ontario Camping Association.

Some of the children who attend summer camp come from families who also have their own cottages, but many more would not likely get to experience a camp setting were it not for sleep-away summer camps. They are truly a great experience for kids!

There’s all the benefits of a family cottage, with the added bonus of a wide variety of activities, the companionship and friendship of other kids, and the freedom of being away from their parents for a short while.

I also counselled at an Easter Seal Society camp for disabled children. It was one of the best experiences of my life. To see kids that, in many cases, would not otherwise even get outside let alone into a camp setting, involved in camp activities and having the time of their lives was heart-warming.

It was certainly a lot of work! Woodeden, just outside London, was the only ESS camp of the (then) five that was not a waterfront location, but the grounds and facilities were adapted to accommodate more severely disabled children, many of whom relied on electric wheelchairs for mobility.

Funny thing about those electric wheelchair batteries — they just don’t quite last for a full-day’s schedule at camp. It was quite common to head up the hill to the campfire and having to push most of the electrics. Going back downhill also required a good deal of exertion — with no battery, there was no induction-braking from the wheel motors nor any steering capability.

Whether at one’s own cottage, a rental property, a lakeside motel, or a summer camp, I can’t think of a better way to spend the summer… or even just a couple of days.

Most recently, I was invited to spend the night at Larry and Marilyn’s cottage on St Joe’s Island this past weekend. Perched on a sloping lot overlooking the water, with Bruce Mines visible across the bay, this cottage was certainly well-suited to relaxing.

A series of terraced decks were connected by stairs that led down to the rocky beach and the dock. It was sitting in a lounge chair on the lowest deck that I watched a bald eagle drift past on the breeze, massive and majestic, its keen eyes searching the water for fish.

Coming back to town later that day I realized that I could be quite content with the cottage life. Hopefully, some day in the not too distant future, I’ll be able to afford it.


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