Pigeon Lake

Like most people, I can think of so many wonderful memories that I have shared with my family during our summers. We have done just about every activity that a family can do together! However, as a child, the family I grew up in seemed to be far less busy or complicated than my family now. My childhood family was pretty simple as far as what we did each summer- we went to the cottage.

My summer began by packing up the station wagon with supplies that my family would need for the month ahead of us. Food, luggage and sleeping bags would be loaded into the back trunk of our typical seventies-style family car. From floor to ceiling, leaving enough room for my brother, our cat, and me the car was jam-packed. With bikes on the roof and, we would head towards a little northern cottage-country town called Pigeon Lake.

Along the way, we always stopped for ice cream and after the last bite; we scrambled back into the car for our final trek of the journey to our summer home on the lake. I remember gazing out the car window and the towns seemed to get smaller and smaller as we passed each one. Almost there! I would chant this under my breath, too excited to have a nap before we arrived, but contented with my purring cat on my lap.

When we finally got to our destination, my brother and I would fling open the car doors and run to the tree house. We made this one summer out of old wood and birch bark. Nothing fancy, but to my brother and I, it was magical!

Next we’d run to the lake, right in front of the cottage. It beckoned us with its taunting waves that splashed against the dock. We knew we couldn’t swim yet, mom would be upset if we went in with our clothes on. So the two us would plunk down on the grass and shed our “city” garb. Who needs shoes! We would dangle our feet off the dock to feel the spray wash over each toe. Then, we’d go to the shore, pick up rocks and try to skip them across the lake, before we were off to the cottage to check out what had changed inside since last summer.

It was a modest cottage that had a main room with giant windows, which overlooked the lake. It smelled kind of musty, but in a comfortable way. It was almost like a mixture of all the good smells that had happened and stayed in the room year after year- tasty cooking, happy people and nature, together in one place.

A massive kitchen table was central to everything inside that little cottage. It served as the main eating area by day and the card table by night. There were enough chairs to accommodate hoards of people- just in case more happened to stop by.

We barbequed almost every night, I don’t think the oven worked very well. I remember most nights there was a crowd of people for our barbecues. One or more of the families that cottaged near us were always welcome and the door was always open.

One family in particular was named The Fishes. I always thought this was so appropriate for the name of cottage friends. We swam all day with the Fish kids, as we called them. We dragged ourselves out of the lake only to grab a bite and then head right back in.

On those barbecue nights with friends, we were allowed to have night swims before bed. When everyone left, we eventually made it to our beds shivering and exhausted, but anticipating the day that would follow.

Looking back, I do miss the feel of the lake on my skin and the wrinkle of my fingers when I’ve swam too long. I miss the sound of voices echoing over the lake, as the adults laugh and the kids run amuck. I miss that little cottage with the magical tree house that gave me so many wonderful summers of my childhood…