When people imagine a writer retreating to a cabin on the shore of Lake Superior, they probably picture something far more glamorous than reality.

Case in point, I am not the thirty-something blonde in a string bikini we both picture in our daydreams. Instead, I’m sixty-two, wearing leggings, a flannel shirt and reading glasses, waiting for my morning coffee to do its job.

The view of Lake Superior, however, is exactly as advertised.

Purchased by Thurston’s grandfather in 1932 – or 1935, depending on who you ask – the property has breathtaking views and nearly a century of family memories. The second cabin on the property was Uncle Henry’s dream, and I think he would be pleased with what is finally nearing completion.    

Along with the work on the “new” cabin, we’ve been working on preserving the history of the original cabin.  We completed a half-baked attempt at a kitchen remodel a couple years ago but even with its inconvenient features and worn-out amenities, it’s still the preferred meal spot.  The walls are decorated with childhood artwork from Thurston’s generation; recently preserved by laminating.  The dining room table can sit about 14 uncomfortably.  Sit down suppers are tradition here, regardless of how little elbow room you have.  Family dogs find themselves under the table, anxiously awaiting table scraps.   

The first addition to the original cabin was built to accommodate guests.  Thurston’s mom remembers her parents having dances in that room when it was first built.  Now that room has been relocated and serves as the laundry and bath house.  Replaced by a bigger and better version in the nineties, it now doubles as another bedroom or a place for board games or cards. George, the stuffed moose, guards the original living room.  From the cathedral ceiling, model airplanes hang.  A favorite rainy-day past-time of years gone by.  There are shelves and shelves of books and with our family, it’s nothing to see everyone in the main room with the fireplace roaring and everyone with their noses buried in a book with a steaming cup of coffee next to them. 

We have a no television policy here.  Occasionally we have radio service but sometimes we just break out the old CD’s or records and fire up the record player.  Days begin with coffee and bacon and Batchawana fries.  Like his dad before him, Thurston loves making breakfast for the family. You never know what you will find in the scrambled eggs! Staples are housed in the tin lined closet.  A place where paper products and perishable food items are safe from sampling.  Mice and bats have been known to try and join the party.  

Kids anxiously await permission to play on the rope swing.  Those that dare can swing out from the roof of the dilapidated old boat house.  Fishing from the shore of the river has been very successful in the last few years.  It’s nothing to pull in an eighteen-inch, five-pound bass right from the dock.  There are pontoon rides to the party spot where the river narrows to a point that boats can’t pass through.  It’s a great place for fishing or treasure hunting for fellow rockhounds. 

Nearly a century after one man purchased a stretch of shoreline and started a family tradition, the cabins are full of stories.  And I’ve only scratched the surface.