Up North

The cabin has been foreclosed upon. The family is clearing the possessions out this weekend. I was fortunate enough to get to see the place one last time. Other than some siding on the cabin, the area looks almost exactly the same. I think the neighbor's outhouse is gone now, though.


My grandparents bought the cabin before I was born, though I'm not sure how long before. I remember it as Grandma and Grandpa's place, and only vaguely remember their living in Sterling Heights. The cabin is where we went to visit whenever we went back to Michigan.

I remember visiting when I was seven, being afraid that there might be Indians on the other side of the lake - if I listened really hard, I could hear the drums beating. At night, I thought they might try to attack.


I remember being chased by friends carrying toads (I'm not a reptile/amphibian fan).

I remember a thunderstorm when I was 10. A bolt of lightning struck right between our cabin and the one next door.

I remember reading a story in Reader's Digest about the New Jersey Devil and trying to get myself to sleep that night, afraid he might have decided to take a vacation to West Branch.

I remember fishing, and catching fish, mostly bluegill with the occasional pike. I also remember scores of pounds of grass pike. I remember catching our dinner.

I remember rowing out all over the lake.


I remember Toutant's General store, where I bought my first fishing lure.

I remember going out to the middle of the lake on that old raft and swimming, feeling the lake weeds with my toes.

I remember running in the woods, playing with friends. I remember Uncle John taking us to Elk Lake bar and getting us Shirley Temples (we were 12).

I remember my first trip to Lost Lake. I was 15. I didn't catch anything. I didn't do much other than row over there and see it.

I remember the feeling of really being away from "it." I remember not having any worries there. I remember spaghetti on every trip. I remember "shit, Earl."

I was only at the cabin for about 16 hours this weekend, but I remembered every trip I'd spent there. I know how unlikely it would have been for myself and my wife and kids to ever get back to the cabin, let alone often enough to justify wanting to keep it, but when I heard the family was losing it, I couldn't help but feeling that way. The good news is that the memories of the place are all fond. And for that, I'm glad.