Making the Best of a Sad Situation

The other day I was surprised to read Bella's blog and find these words about The Marmelade Gypsy: "You cannot help but be cheered by its brightness." Bella and I have never met but we've read each others' blogs for years and it was a wonderful way to start my day. And I needed that. (Cheers, Bella, and thank you!)

I'm not always bright. Or cheery. Most of the time, yes. There's a stubborn streak of optimism that doesn't keep me down too long, that "look on the bright side" characteristic that can be incredibly annoying to those who don't! In fact, if I'm honest I would have to add "cheerful optimism" to my list of what some would consider my more annoying habits (along with nail biting, clutter and one I can't control, my cough!)

But the past week hasn't been filled with happy. I've felt more than a little battered more than once. An elderly friend in hospice. Another who was moved by her daughters to live closer to them in assisted living -- but who was angry about having to leave her home of many years and her friends in this town. And then there was the weekend.

The weekend started out well enough, even though we knew there would be sadness along the way. Rick and I would be saying a final goodbye to Minisa, the cabin on Torch Lake where his family had several wonderful reunions in recent years. While others said their final goodbye in July after the reunion, we were fortunate to have another chance for a last look, before it is mowed down for a new owner to build their new home. But before we went there, we would celebrate with a wedding.

Diane and I had worked together for many years and her daughter, Amelia, was getting married. We went to the wedding, which was on the way up north, as we began our weekend.

Being with a friend on such a special day was really wonderful, the wedding was beautiful -- all systems go. We would be at my happy place -- my little cottage on the lake. It was too early for color, but it would still be quiet. We'd see Rick's cousin Mary. Enjoy being up north. Maybe the weekend wouldn't be so hard after all. We would make the best of a sad situation.

Then we arrived at the cottage. Longtime readers of the Gypsy have seen my postcards from the lake. Our little cottage on Otsego Lake in Gaylord, Michigan, is nothing fancy. None of the cottages on the lake really are. It's not really a "McMansion Lake." It's small, with two bedrooms, an impossibly tiny bathroom, a wonderful view of the lake and a wooded lot next door filled with beautiful, tall pines and bushes that in years past brought baskets of huckleberries that produced wonderful breads and pies. The neighbor's cottage was on the other side of the lot so it felt secluded, up-northy.

When my neighbor Eulah died, the house and lot passed to friends and last year they sold it. I knew the new owners -- who had their own construction company -- would tear down Eulah's little house and build on both lots. But we weren't prepared for what we saw when we arrived.

The lot had been clear cut from the lake to the road. Piles of lumber were stacked tall. Enormous trees -- some we estimated to be 100 years old -- were pulled up by the roots. There wasn't a huckleberry bush on site, save for a row on our property line.



I cried. Rick couldn't sleep. It was like the land had been raped, like you could hear the trees screaming "Why?" We expected trees would come down for the footprint of the house. But every single tree? I guess you don't cover up the monuments.

We woke the next morning and after surveying the carnage, took off for Minisa. Time with Mary and Gus is always good.

Mary showed us photos of Rick's great grandfather, great and great-great grandmother. Beautiful women.

 

Then we went to Minisa for a last goodbye, for a walk around the cottage, a look within. Contents of the cottage that hadn't been shared with family members were in neat piles for the estate sale company to price and mark. That was tough.

              

And seeing the house without the long porch table where so many wonderful dinners and late night conversations had taken place was like seeing a beautiful house without its soul.



And it felt a little easier to leave. Only a little.

The soul of Minisa isn't the structure or the treasure trove of things within.

           

The soul of Minisa is Mary and Gus and all the family that inhabited its walls on summer days for nearly 100 years. And that soul is, in turn, a part of our own.

After an early dinner with Mary, there were smiles. And that was important.

We ran away from the sound of construction equipment clearing the lot the next day and took a road trip. Elmira is the kind of town you go through, not to. A couple of restaurant/bars, a convenience market, a "cute" store, a few battered buildings and a church. But we found that the Railside Bar and Grill had wonderful Polish food and the most delicious perogies. A friend we hoped to see in nearby Boyne City was away -- but his house sitters invited us in for a delightful hour of conversation. And we found a book store and wine shop and tasted olive oils and vinegars. When we came home, the trucks were gone.

The next morning we were off for home, the storms in place, the fridge cleared out, the beds stripped of summer sheets. We don't know if we can go back this fall -- not because of schedules, though that is always a factor. We don't know if we can bear to see the vacant lot beside us, so empty, so sad.

But there was one sign -- a sign of promise, of hope, as we left the cottage that rainy morning.

A Native American saying had it right: "The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears."

Minisa: A Vacation From My Vacation

Yes, this is my story, shared in as much length and detail and illustrated so profusely because it is written especially for family as well as dear blog readers. But read on -- and learn about a very special place, one that touches the heart.

More than once, when I've said I'm going on vacation, someone will say, "But you're retired! It's always vacation!"

True enough, but not completely. At home, I have obligations. Dentist, doc or hair appointments, maybe some contract work, board meeting or volunteer activities. Most of these are things I welcome but it's safe to say that without my calendar at home, I am hopelessly lost, a bird adrift.

When I come north, the house is small, easy to keep up. So most of my time is spent reading, doing art, walking, swimming, road tripping. It's a vacation. But there's still the beach to weed, tasks to do.

But recently I took a vacation from my vacation. It was Rick's family reunion at Minisa, a cabin on Michigan's Torch Lake that was part of the family history on his mother's side. The cast of wonderful characters that I would be spending time with included three of his four brothers and some of their wives/kids/grandchildren (from Michigan, Massachusetts, Indiana and Utah), along with his aunts and cousin families from Arizona, Ohio, Minnesota, Maryland and Virginia. Our ages ranged from seven weeks to more than seven decades.

And it was an incredible week.

Why was this a vacation from my vacation? Well, because it was totally unstructured. The only rule was dinner at about 5:30 (probably more because of the little ones than the adults!). Usually one of the kids rang the dinner bell and I think the whole lake knew it was dinner time at our house!

Everyone had a hand in making a dinner. And in cleaning up. Many hands make quick work, it is said, and that saying was never more true. And really, who wouldn't want to clean up after menus that included barbecue ribs, lasagna, grilled pork tenderloin, pancakes, chili, and more. Every bite was fabulous!

 

Rick and his brother Randy slept in tents, niece Olivia in her hammock, the rest of us in Minisa and it's "ice house" cabin next door. People came and went as their schedules permitted. Cindy commuted from Traverse City, brothers Dan and Tim sailed over and went back to the boat at night and I did a couple of road trips home overnight to feel the Lizzie Girl. She was glad to see me.

The rest of the time we bobbed in the lake, hunted Petoskey stones, took a trip to the nearby winery, went shopping in nearby Bellaire, Alden and Elk Rapids.

               

There were breadmaking lessons by Rick and his guitar practice brought dancing times for Andy!

 

We read books in the sun and by the fire, played in the lake and had the most wonderful conversations. We got to know one another again and reconnected.

 

There were two birthday celebrations -- and lots of cake!

 
It was never a problem finding someone with whom to engage in a board game! And of course there were s'mores!

 

Amy, Jay and Molly seemed to be duck whisperers! (I think the ducks knew a good thing when they saw it!)

                   

Oh, and did I mention swimming in the lake? (Yes, I know I did!) But we did it often on this warm week. At first the water is bracing! Then refreshing. Then perfect!

                   

At times there were 20 people. At no time was there conflict or argument. There was plenty of reminiscing, piecing together family history, recalling old stories and providing current updates. We laughed. And when it was time to leave, we cried.

When I was a kid, every time I left the cottage, I would cry for about 20 miles, despite my mother's gentle reminders that we would be back next year. But when we left Minisa, we all knew that there would be no next year.

The property, sitting on a valuable piece of Torch Lake, has been sold and the new owners plan to tear down this remarkable building for -- what? A McMansion? Maybe. At least something usable over all four seasons.

It breaks our hearts.

Minisa was built in the 1920s, a marvelous log cabin with a fireplace so large that the smallest members of our party could have easily walked inside. It is like a living history museum.

 

While the entire structure is not original, the updates have been well within character. The bathroom looks like it could be that old, apart from the fact that it now has "real" plumbing. The towel bars and stair rails are handcrafted from birch logs. If the kitchen cupboards aren't original, I sure couldn't tell.

Checkout the old water tank in the corner of the bathroom! The log walls. And that half-circle of white in the lower right-hand corner is one of those classic tubs with feet!

The furniture is cottage mishmash. Perfect for gathering by the fire (which we did on the first cool evening), cozy and comfy for reading. The mantle holds family photos and sailing trophies.

The china is a mix of old and new and there were some wonderful pieces. In the kids room a hefty collection of children's books. Quilts for every bed. Eastlake furniture in some of the rooms, other equally antique furniture in others.

And everywhere, wonderful nooks and crannies filled with family history and treasures. What is in the dresser drawer? We discover old medals, family inventory records, beautiful pieces of jewelry. And it has been accumulated over decades -- nearly a century. Not all has monetary value and some bits are purely for use. Yet every little bit, fascinating.

                   

The porch was the gathering place. Its wide roof covered us and offered shade from the hot afternoons and its comfortable Adirondack-style chairs and a table that seemed a mile long all contributed to this being the heart of the home, the place where conversations continued into the late hours.

And from the porch, you saw the lake. Crystal clear -- looking down through the water was like looking at a shore.



And, in the water, those long conversations continued as we bobbed around on floaties and noodles, sharing stories, learning about each other. Mermaids proudly displayed their shells and no child was ever unprotected in the lake with a cadre of grown-ups taking care to make certain they were safe.



It was a week of hugs...

...and laughter.

Lots of laughter.

A week of introductions to the youngest member....

 

...and moments of quiet reflection.



It was perfect.

               

Until the first Minisa reunion four years ago, Rick and his brothers hadn't seen their cousins in decades -- and the MD/VA cousins hadn't seen the MN/OH/AZ group either. What we all learned then is that time is fleeting, the senior generation is physically vulnerable, the connections are valuable and priceless. And there is a new generation who will remember Minisa only through fading childhood memories and who will never have the opportunity to reconnect with their cousins at this special place.



Each of us wrote our memories in the Minisa log book. A treasure of memories added to those of families we have never met but all with at least one thing in common -- a love for this place.

Could this have happened anywhere? Yes, there will be places with beautiful sunsets. And yes, you could gather at a central spot with lots of people, eat good food, swim, talk. But it wouldn't be the same.

It will never be the same.

And so, on the morning of departure, the last of us to leave saw lots of sad faces as we said goodbye -- not just to one another.

But also, to Minisa.