We’ve been given an extraordinary gift, a stretch of Lake Superior shoreline on the Canadian side. A place so special that most people only get to visit. Which, apparently, also makes it irresistible.  It’s a delicate balance of being friendly or neighborly and protecting what’s yours.  Especially when people know we are Americans and there isn’t always someone on the property.  You don’t want to overreact, but you also don’t want to find your place has been “borrowed” when you next show up.    

Trespassers have always been part of the story, and for some in the family, a real source of stress.  Yes, people can legally walk the beach and swim, but they aren’t welcome to use the property as if it were an extension of the neighboring public park.  Thurston, for one, has taken this personally. 

In recent years, he’s seen to it that strategically placed signs dot the landscape – gentle but firm reminders that this is, in fact, private land. As you enter the property, a large private property sign greets you. You would think that might be enough to stop people from heading down the long single-lane drive to the cabins. But every so often, someone pulls in anyway—just curious, they say. Or hopeful. “Could we pay to camp here, just for the night?” Or my personal favorite: “Can we just cross over here to get over there?” Well… no. Because that’s private property too.

In effort to keep a clean shoreline, a local establishment recently started providing doggy waste bags.  Thoughtful gesture – until people began filling the bags and tossing them into our woods.  Which raises an important question: if you’re going to throw it into the bushes anyway, why use the bag?  At this point, we’re considering new signage.  Something along the lines of: Save the bag.  Send the dog to the woods.  The bears won’t mind.    

Those on foot are one thing but those of the 4-wheel variety are another.  The sound of 4-wheelers is sure to put everyone on alert.  And one evening, it pretty much ruined what was supposed to be our attempt at a romantic beach night.  The beach side is usually too windy for a fire, but on this rare, calm evening, we made multiple trips back and forth – chairs, wood, blankets, beverages – everything we needed for a perfect evening. 

We hadn’t even poured our first drink before we heard it.  Not the crackle of the fire, but the low hum of engines.  I told myself they were going to the public beach.  They were not.  They turned and headed straight toward us.  Thurston took off like a rocket.  Meanwhile, I stayed behind, mentally preparing to dial 911 for help and wondering – does 911 even work in Canada? 

There were only a few of them, but at that moment, it felt like a parade. My heart was pounding. Thurston—who is very much a lover, not a fighter—was suddenly prepared to defend the shoreline. They pulled up, shut off their machines, and explained.  Fireworks. In August. Apparently, their Canada Day celebration in July had been rained out… and this was the rescheduled event. Expecting not only to drive across our property with their quads and trailers but to shoot the fireworks off our point. They assured us they’d been doing this for over twenty years and had permission from the owner.  Which might have carried more weight… if that owner hadn’t passed away in 2018.

After a fairly-direct conversation about how this sort of thing might have been better handled — perhaps by stopping in during daylight hours and asking permission —we reached a compromise.

They could pass. One last time. As it turned out, the only fireworks that night were the ones in the sky.  They were amazing.  Our romantic beach evening? Slightly less spark. But hope springs eternal. Maybe this will be the year.

Stay tuned.